In pure gold cast I for thee my love
Which cannot in trust rust nor alter
In glory, though I do see many a dove
Flying about whose eyes at you flutter.

Love unfeigned, how can it be
Truly known: by deed or by word?


Take old Sisera for example, my lady,
Who fled with his glittering sword
To the tent of Jael, the beloved wife
Of Kenite, from the face of Barak.
And of her requested he for his life
Water, and she in action was not slack
To offer him milk instead, and did cover
Him again with a blanket. Sleeping in peace,
She crept softly to him with a hammer
And nailed down his temple with ease.
Yet to her did he entrust his safety,
Seeking from the smasher vain security.


Consider Joab, too, how he by his fine
Speech killled Amasa his worthy cousin;
Taking his beard with his right hand
As though he would give him a kiss grand,
Whilst his left hand had a thirsty dagger
Waiting; and he pierced the good feller
Through with his wicked blade. How the tongue
Of men do flatter oft in order to do wrong!

Once it's broken, the maidenhead,
It cannot again be ever mended,
When in the light wall of a peach--
In that fine part--there is a breach.
or who knoweth how to stitch *****
Together like words with an hyphen?

Whilst in bed, thou knowest not at
All what about thee is transacting more
In life, for thou altogether therein art
Oblivious even to thine own existence core.

And all thy earthly goods thou wilt
Never remember--not even a pin in your
Possessions--as you shut eye on thy quilt
Or on thy sack, dreaming with a snore.

Thy soul, in sleep, is at ease from angst--
Worrying nay itself over the Dow Jones swinging.
Thou art in a subconscious mode and canst
Tell nought of what in the world's happening.

Save for stertorous breathing--the
Sign of life, sleep is simply as death!
And in both man is hapless verily,
Whether he lieth in bed or in a casket.

This thy affection erratic
Make constant and stable,
Willowy winsome chick;
Or thy love from my cable
You should now altogether,
Once and for all, sever.

Girl, so rare art thou like a comet.
You're a fair and comely nymphet.

Walking alone, even if it's only a mile--
Though you'd have wine, bread and cream--
The journey would be weary, and very dreary
Would life to thee be without a lone smile;
Howbeit if you've gotten by Grace a deary,
A companion sweet, though you should walk
A thousand miles together; yet it would seem
Like a furlong as you both are cheeringly talk-
Ing sans the comforts of chocolate and chicken,
Save for water and crisps into pieces broken.