Without feathers and ink I'm nothing

Pray tell what fool writes with a goose feather? Pluck a swan and poureth me ink elsewise I am nothing. Methinks I'll find a barrel by the Thames. Begone vagabond, I'll kick ye into the river. Foul is the day without the tools of the trade. Shall I hyde behind this crooked tree and trip the Queen's messenger? He must have what I need, the fool. Here he comes now .... not a moment too soon for my vile mood needs a tempering. Aye, methinks I spot the writing box in his pouch! Oh dry standish thy desert shall turn to paradise. I must act.