Am I a ladykiller?
How many thus in my hand have died
     By my philandering big gun?
              Count on. None!!
Well, save this my avowed lone lover,
That's here alive but for ecstasy tired.

Thou about canst prance
   As a winnin' horse,
            Of course,
Seein' thou hast a sportin' chance
To court that sweet Princess
Now with thy plucky success.

Wish I thee, love Jockey, a good ride
If she becometh thy goodly bride.

No excess drink of beer and wine
Which sparkle and taste verily fine,
    Thou my quaffing mouth,
Neither of whiskey nor of brandy
That does make feelings randy
And turns a gent to a lager lout.

                  Altogether
Transient merriment it giveth and succour
    To the soaked jolly soul--much liquor--
          I do, my goblet, gather.

She on the Twentieth
   Street liveth
In a plush penthouse;

And I in my own rustic crib
  Live by my ancient nib;
And for love, I'm no mouse.

The dollybird useth iThings
  Those by Apple made,
While I by my little things
  Run my blessed trade.

Though no kingly life
I do presently live
Nor have now fortune and fame
      Great, high queenly dame;

And I mayn't a costly gadget
        At the moment avoid
Like that dear iPhone or tablet;
Yet make not my affection void:

        I can be a commoner,
     But do need nay a coroner.

Down from ten she counted, the lass,
For me to leave straightway her place.

Peradventure she hath found another
Who in substance is far richer
                Than I.
    And haply he is popular
             Like a popstar.

I too, perhaps, needs must go explore
Those galaxies of starry girls the more;
          But love I her still.
Besides not having an astronaut's skill,
My heart never can fly.

As me, why close thee thy eyes
     When each other we kiss,
             My babe dear?
     Now what nectar is there
     In this my wet tongue
     That does thee wrong,
  Or in that thine poppy lip that lies?
Yet we do ourselves buss just for the bliss!

No holier-than-thou mien do I exhibit,
O merciful God, nor a stupid conceit
Display afore Thy unblemished sight at all.
For Thou wilt cause the high man to fall,
Whose proud heart is lifted up in iniquity.
Wherefore myself humble I ere Thee,
        O Savior gracious,
             Christ Jesus.