Lord Coy Sevier,
On the fifth day during the four month of our lord’s year two-thousand and fourteen I had the distinct pleasure in attending the opening day of thy seasonal festival, Scarborough Faire. ‘Tis minest utmost pleasure to report that I partook in the libations and turkey legs with the vigor of a well-bred steed. Though the mistresses wandering about thy kingdom left much to be desired, I did find lady Esmeralda enchanting with her whips and fire and such. As a mere peasant, I hast not the means nor the understanding to supporth the artisans selling their fine goods. Many a laugh wast had at the expense of the numerous village idiots shuffling about, and many a time did I question my own sanity.
Your kingdom, my lord, may be the last bastion of honest adult tomfoolery around. So the next time I travel to thy his strange and distant land (Waxahatchie), I will hopefully find the true love of mine among the parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme (just had to drop that reference sorry).