My dearest Eliza,
Tis with the most earnest of hope, in my heart, that I writes ya
For I know many a man, does long for thine hand
And many such a proposal, to you, shall be made
For tis’ without doubt, you cut such a fine maid
But if you’d kindly afford me this chance,
To state my case as a suitor
Though I know it may seem unlikely,
(As finer farmers than me, on the farmers market there be)
You might just find that I suits’ya!
Now then, to the matter at hand…
If my Lamborghini tractor, is not enough to attract ya?
Or you don’t feel that my hens, has got the eggs-factor?
You’re not impressed by the size of my bullocks, or cock?
And your left feeling sheepish by the sheep in my flock
All my ducks, aren’t in a row, and my geese you consider fowl?
You find fault with my spade, my rake, hoe and trowel
Well my dear, with you, I’m afraid, I could not argue!
Though I’m far from an ‘arable man, I’s kind,
and looks after all my animals,
I’ll be the first to admit,
Of all o’ the West Country’s farmers, I am not, nor will I ever be, considered the G.O.A.T
But unlike them, I can promise you this, I can swear you this oath
To you, I would always be true, for I know I couldn’t do any better
I’d be a fool if I left’ya, you’re a first prize heifer!
And though I may be’s a lot, a fool is one thing I’s not!
Now I know that…
As sure as my sheep be’s a’bleeting
Tis true, that most things in life be’s a’fleeting,
With age, they does fade,
With time, they decline
Summers set, and flowers Wilt’sure
But I promise, my love for you the exception,
will always endure!
An unending, ever-laster!
It’ll never by me, be put out to pasture
Your hand, should it me, you choose to give,
I’ll always be holding, in our little holding,
so long as I live!
And I means that surely, honest, without fail,
No matter what, I’ll never turf you out,
On you I’ll never bail!
To me you’re the mustard, the cream of the crop,
And to me, like the cream, you will always come up tops!
I know I’m starting to gush, and it might seem a bit much,
But I can’t helps it, it’s just that you’re right gurt lush!
I know I’m not the richest, but your Dad’s a fine earner,
And since he’d be payin’ for the wedding,
(We’ll set the roof on fire)
It’ll be a real barn burner!
And I promise you,
That on the night we are betrothed,
Once the reception draws a close,
When everybody goes,
and it’s just us, left dancing nose to nose,
We’ll get some cider inside’ya, and inside’ya I’ll slide’ya
The west countries most potent man-made fertilizer
We’ll reap what we sow, when in your belly, you’ll grow,
The first 10 pounder, of our own little sounder!
I knows, I knows...that when you’re growing your bump,
On the downside, you’ll have to lays off the scrump,
But I promise you, that I’ll follows suit, and gives it the boot,
If laying off the Jack, means having your back,
And you won’t have to fret, o’er the babies you’ll be spillin’
For our little home, I’ll busily be tillin’
Til’ it’s ready for our handsome brood there to live in.
A big healthy herd, between us we’ll have,
I’m sure of it, I knows,
Each with twelve little fingers, and twelve little toes!
But don’t worry, for you, alone, time I will always find!
We’ll put the pests aside, (well, we’ll give them to your mother),
And my company and attention, I’ll give you undivide!
Though as you know, I don’t have a lot, well I have a lot, but it’s not a lot,
I promise we’ll make it our little, Heaven in Devon,
Our number one spot!
Well I guess that’s about it; that’s all I really has to say,
Now I’ll leave it to you to consider you answer,
To decide if it’s a yay or a nay!
But before I finish, before I leaves ya,
one last thing I will just say,
Should you decide I’m not the man’ure looking for,
Please don’t worry, I’ll understand
But if it’s me you choose,
Out of this poor sod, you’ll make a happy man!