Dear Philip, son of the holy Roman emperor.
I've no piggyback ride for you into power. Your tie with
England well as my father, I shall sever like the headsman
did my mother. Think of it as a marriage refusal by me
executioner.
My father was the King Henry Tudor and the faiths
defender. A forewarn to you for though deemed illegitimate
this milk and honey bambino of the one with a little dagger
is undoubtedly the bulging man's legitimate daughter.
Speaking of daughters near my throne shall nowhere be
your Isabella.
I'd deal with you both in a more south Carpathian manner in
a vertical impalement I do hope you are not too tender! He
liked them flexible he did, the all-powerful Vlad prince of
Wallachia. If only I had that chance, I'd have you in that
stance, for the day you signed with the Catholic league of
France.
You may have defended me from excommunication, but I
don't need a chaperone for a throne made for this ginger nut
protestant queen of a nation.
I bare no attraction for those twinkly blue eyes you see as
hypnotic stars and where evil under lies. I made that clear
when I signed the treaty of Nonsuch. So you say it's war,
well bring it on butch.
I've seen your sails approaching my shores, I know you've
no communication with your commander's and in hilarity I
role amongst the floor. When you're forced to retreat how
embarrassed you must be, as if fallen to your feet are Philips
not so lucky drawers. Do blush on as yet another fleet falls.
Be careful not to trip upon that tongue coiled in lament
around your dainty ankles. I plea that I am an untameable
shrew! Spaniard, Keep calm it's not me -it's you- as I did
once stress without success for that brain seems hard to
address.
A virginal is played alluring and adventurous, and you shall
never venture nor commandeer as well as many a successful
English buccaneer, this virgin's celestial sought after
knickers!
Fear more my storm that you face upon my waters, for as
you saw I did trim as if straw the head of your most
precious. Mary, Queen of Scots. Let's agree to disagree that
this will not end, not 'til one of us is good and dead. It won't
be me for my locks are a dangerous red.
So for the sake of further an awkward situation, let's have a
knee's up. Avoid the depths of a reaching ocean and escape
Davey Jones with an intact armada. To live to tell the tale
and be as Robert Dudley Earl of Leicester, a well-wisher of
yours truly: - Elizabeth Tudor.

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