Wot's the good o' callin' a young 'ooman a Wenus or a angel, Sammy ?' 'Ah! what, indeed ?' replied Sam.
'You might jist as well call her a griffin, or a unicorn, or a king's arms at once, which is wery well known to be a collection o' fabulous animals,' added Mr.Weller.
'Just as well,' replied Sam.
'Drive on, Sammy,' said Mr.Weller.
Sam complied with the request, and proceeded as follows; his father continuing to smoke, with a mixed expression of wisdom and complacency, which was particularly edifying.
'"Afore I see you, I thought all women was alike."' 'So they are,' observed the elder Mr.Weller parenthetically.
'"But now,"' continued Sam, '"now I find what a reg'lar soft-headed, inkred'lous turnip I must ha' been; for there ain't nobody like you, though I like you better than nothin' at all." I thought it best to make that rayther strong,' said Sam, looking up.
Mr.Weller nodded approvingly, and Sam resumed.
'"So I take the privilidge of the day, Mary, my dear--as the gen'l'm'n in difficulties did, ven he valked out of a Sunday--to tell you that the first and only time I see you, your likeness was took on my hart in much quicker time and brighter colours than ever a likeness was took by the profeel macheen (wich p'raps you may have heerd on Mary my dear) altho it DOES finish a portrait and put the frame and glass on complete, with a hook at the end to hang it up by, and all in two minutes and a quarter."' 'I am afeerd that werges on the poetical, Sammy,' said Mr.Weller dubiously.
'No, it don't,' replied Sam, reading on very quickly, to avoid contesting the point-- '"Except of me Mary my dear as your walentine and think over what I've said .-- My dear Mary I will now conclude." That's all,' said Sam.
'That's rather a Sudden pull-up, ain't it, Sammy ?' inquired Mr.Weller.
'Not a bit on it,' said Sam; 'she'll vish there wos more, and that's the great art o' letter-writin'.' 'Well,' said Mr.Weller, 'there's somethin' in that; and I wish your mother-in-law 'ud only conduct her conwersation on the same gen-teel principle.

Ain't you a-goin' to sign it ?' 'That's the difficulty,' said Sam; 'I don't know what to sign it.' 'Sign it--"Veller",' said the oldest surviving proprietor of that name.
'Won't do,' said Sam.

'Never sign a walentine with your own name.' 'Sign it "Pickwick," then,' said Mr.Weller; 'it's a wery good name, and a easy one to spell.' 'The wery thing,' said Sam.

'I COULD end with a werse; what do you think ?' 'I don't like it, Sam,' rejoined Mr.Weller.

'I never know'd a respectable coachman as wrote poetry, 'cept one, as made an affectin' copy o' werses the night afore he was hung for a highway robbery; and he wos only a Cambervell man, so even that's no rule.' But Sam was not to be dissuaded from the poetical idea that had occurred to him, so he signed the letter-- 'Your love-sick Pickwick.' And having folded it, in a very intricate manner, squeezed a downhill direction in one corner: 'To Mary, Housemaid, at Mr.Nupkins's, Mayor's, Ipswich, Suffolk'; and put it into his pocket, wafered, and ready for the general post.