Marry, what a wretch I am, but no less a wretch that needs wifing!
Henry Cooper is the name, merchant man and smuggler. I've done a deal of trades in my tyme: I soldiered under the banner of Queene Anne; trafficked negroes in Barbadoes; even once did me a little pirating in the West Indies. But now Fortuna, the strumpet, hath given me a new opportunity I would in soothe not waiste, though it giveth me nary cause for enjoyment. A fortnight ago I got word from Umbridge that my dear uncle hath passed of the French disease gotten from the sundry slatterns that was his appetite. In his will, I have been bequeethed a plantation in Virginia, though with no wife to help harvest the sot-weed and not a farthing for a strong-backed negroe or bonded man, I have little means to work such a farm. The life won't be easy - I've heard tales of moskitos the size of pidgons and naked salvages who wilt quarter any white man with their feerce axes, but I've my musket and my cutlass and near ten year's in her majesties navy to deal with any blood-mad heathens.
What I'm looking for is a goodly and comely wench who desires passage to the colonies. The lasses in Virginia, as the talk in the public-houses go, are all but headlong into harlotry, and though I've swived many the slattern and maiden alike, I am a man after betrothal and will not tolerate a strumpet in mine home. Women who replie should have goode strong hips and be clever about divers matters. Women who know the tobacco trade woode be specially helpful. My only other recourse is to enlist the aide of my nephew, damn him for a papist and blackguard, who wilt by his nature do everything to deceeve and cheet me, but is crafty in business and a merry companion.
Tyme is short. Replie rite quickly, that I might set sail for Virginia!