Letter: Arthur To His Sister Babette, From Ireland, 1587

Dear Babette,

This letter I compose from a pub in Donegal; aye, Babette, I have traveled to Ireland alone. My muse bade me arise and leave for this bobbing emerald, and when may a poet ignore the advice of his muse? This land, so full of the dead. The very earth heaves with the clamour of their bones, and tis a wonder that the living find a place to lay their heads.

I have journeyed from Kilkenny to Killarney, to Galway, Dingle, Doolin, Doodle, Dangle, Piddle, Paddle, and Shmingle. I would that I may stay longer, so great is my affection for this land. The only disquieting incident did come in the towne of Doodle, which is a towne beset by hordes of amourous dogs. I have composed this poem:

Oh, the poodles of Doodle are villainous beasts.
They'll hitch to thy leg, and they'll hump without cease.
They don't ask permission, the lecherous sinners.
Oh, ye poodles of Doodle! At least buy me dinner.

I then journeyed north, to Donegal, where I met the most fanciful man. A wee sprite of a fellow, I engaged him in a lively conversation, and thereupon I began the first lines of a new poem. Thou knowest me well enough to expect its arrival in but a short while.

And Edmund? Is he responsive?

--Arthur, 1587