Nay, radiant Goddess my sweet, I swear upon yon lecherous pantheon that idly sippeth the brow-sweat of man upon Mount Olympia, though I swoon to pen such verbiage as might tickle thine innermost sensibilities, I faint in mine own mortal unworth...
Go swaller some brews and let me off to cook some semblance of a repast for my beloved full-gorged puttock.