When Sir Henry Lee died they wanted me to write a poem for the tombstone as part of the cover-up and I didn't even know him since our relationship was bogus from the start and just to hide my real identity. Then they wanted me to say a euolgy at the funeral and cry every half minute. I couldn't do that. Women think every man who dies is suddenly perfect and why didn't they make him their lover instead of that hussy Vavasour, never thinking once that their thinking was wrong and to direct their anger at themselves.
So if I just stood up I was going to take hits from half of the women and three times as many (everyone there) if I opened my mouth once. Yet men don't understand it so I had to refuse and make it so they would never ask me again to do either of these things for someone I didn't know.
I remember thinking 'they want me to be sad that he died but if I had as good a life and lived as long as he did (79 years) then you can spit on my grave and be just as jealous of me as I am of Sir Henry Lee'. Every time I thought of this I got angrier but they wanted me to cry. When I realized that they wanted me to write sad thoughts I thought of the most insane way to get out of this mess. I got into the spirit of it until all I could think of were humorous rhymes and then I wrote this poem for his tombstone.
This is how I managed to tell the women that we never got together since we never hit it off at the same time.
I know it was a horrible thing to write but look at the symmetry of the tapered flower pot. It would etch perfectly into a tapered tombstone but they just used the words and that just irritated me. I think the bard must have written it. It could never have been written by a woman and certainly not Anne Vavasour.