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A letter from Misthress Leythess...

Clare having fun with language...

& the blak sale   mathem    was fer the reform bill lost in the howse of Lords    & if they downt plase to down o there nappers & loke far it agin I wud niver to go to have prares in thet howse agin      as Humfrey seys    far as thoff it be ritten on a bit of  parchmen no biger then your fingor it will nat tak the lukin far as the needal in the battel of hay did & so thay hav no exchuse bot to find it

            yours ever to admirashun dare mat-hem   exchuse hast & botherashun far Im ap to my elbos in sads & the buk thub

Och the mobs    Misthress Leythess    the mabs thare ane man dun morthashuns of mischeef wid a fire shovel       he bite an officher of chalvery at the pint of his swurd most shamefuly    & Humfrey seys no mather for that    thow hees no rabel    bot hee will hev it thet the kings consitushuns ar no bisnes to be pat in jeporde at the rong end of a dradm swurd      to beshure Mathern    its all well enuff to be at the handel, thets safe enuf for sartin        bot yu no the kalverey ar gentemen & we musthent be afther kapin solders far doinin nathin   thets sartin    & so peceable fokes mast kape throm owt o the wey o the powther & uthe[r] dangerus mortashüns

           bot wat a strange thing thet the man wid the fire showel shud cum oif the ero Mathem     but lard bles yu   he wor prothekted by providence & as thof he was nat doin the rite thing

A single page from the Lettys Correspondence:
'Memoirs of Uncle Barnaby'
(Arbour Editions - 2017)

O woman sweet witchingly woman 


[Image: The cover of the Tern Press (handmade, limited edition (of 100) book) Artwork by Nicholas Parry]

O woman sweet witchingly woman 

Amid the worlds bustle & strife 

Thourt the only sweet blossom thats blooming 

Perfuming the garden of life 

Thourt the only pure fountain thats given 

From whence all true pleasures doth flow 

The angels are unknowns of heaven 

But womans real angels below 


Our lives woud be lives of vexation 

Our days woud be days of despair 

Wi out the sweet jems of creation 

Soft women to sweeten our care 

& powers that formd beauty protect us 

If weaknesses cant be conseald 

Shoud we view heavens joys as conjectures 

& women as heaven reveald 


& far be a souls savage natures 

That cannot wi tenderness burn 

That turns from a look of such creatures 

As one from a statue woud turn 

When beauty its charms are unsealing 

From glances of eyes dewey blue 

Devoid must they be of all feeling 

That thrills wi no raptures to view 


O women sweet witchin[g]ly women 

Amid the worlds bustle & strife 

Yere the only sweet blossom thats blooming 

Perfuming the garden of life 

Yere the only pure fountain that[s] given 

From whence real happiness flow 

While angels are unknowns of heaven 

Sweet womens provd angels below 


Pet MS A9 R26