Thy heart let her grace succour
Thus still thy wandering sight
All thy promises to her honour
Adoring her with thy main and might

Bring her misdeeds to a loving light
To her ears alone such acts reveal
Let rumours and rancours take flight
Rebrand not your angel a devil

Though thou art the head and above
Yet give thine Missis respect due
Daily, dude, many an alluring dove
Thou wilt often see, but none is new

So *** in the dark alley eschew
Your body from immorality refrain
For thine lady thy love ever renew
Every day her affection warmly retain

In thy choice work and woman exult
Glory to God give for every blessing
And him praise for thy labour's result
Sated be with your couch and calling

Like a sloop in mid ocean toss
To and fro by a wind boisterous,
Whose fortune is past help and hope, seems he
Among the flotilla of his game--supposedly.

Remember i about two seasons or years
Agone, when it was bruited to my ears
By some analysts and commentators alike,
That the player probably might not strike
Home a Grand Slam at all in his career.
The critics, howbeit, this day wrong were
Proven for his fate changed, when the hand
Of heaven which, as it wills, doth command
The affairs of man, causes at once to cease
The waves, turning a seeming failure to success.
For there in that distant land of America did
That ever presistent and optimistic, avid
For, focusing on a title Andy Murray of Britain,
At last his first Open Tennis Trophy obtain.

No theory new doth his crown prescribe;
Only that a man should likewise subscribe
To those ancient proven principles: believe
In God and thyself, and sincerely give
To every pursuit of life thine very strength and
Power; and whether the occasion be a Grand
Prix or Slam, allow nay no rollicking pundit
Thy faith to cast down. For like a bandit
Are negative words; they do rob the heart
Of its courage and confidence for the most part.

Yea, at 25, the British boy berthed eventually,
Despite the storms, at the harbour of victory.

Where will i be
and
what will i be
doing, my soul,
at
the trump sound--

in the church God worshipping,
or in a club others gossiping,
with a strumpet hot in a hotel
or brothel, or with my own damsel--

if thou art yet alive,
when Christ shall here arrive?


Where wilt thou be,
my being,
when
the trump shall blast
at last--

will i not still be keeping malice
with so-and-so Allan and Alice;
wilt thou nay be chasing after riches
and classy cars and comely chicks--

if i am yet alive,
when the King above shall here arrive?

Having the lady of thine heart
Found, all the hangers-on forsake.
She alone thy bed must make
And shake in merriment's part.

Thy eyes to others' beauty close
That thine heart desire again, say,
The sultriness of another dolly nay;
But let thy wife's body be as a rose.

The Pleiades and Orion, at the wedding
Of the sun and the moon, were worthy witnesses,
Like the snow that's robed in a white dress--
The suit with frost and flakes of ice made,
While the hail was in a nice garment clad
Laced with stones and was seated beside
The storm benign gazing, smiling with soft pride.
The rain, standing tall in the choir loft, adown
Was pouring rhythmic sounds in its falling gown,
Singing hallelujah chorus sweet accompanied by
The blazing thunder's rare grand piano nigh,
Making the clouds in its fair multi-coloured
The mode about to waltz; the dew was honoured
The good grace to say at solemnization ending.
And having man and wife become, the happy pair
Were by the Lord blessed with numerous stars fair.

How her facebook friends did turn to foes!
Devouring their seeming pal like wolves.
And some still seek love on the internet
To their own good and peril, an intent
I can't in my judgement own fault. For
None can ever know another man's core.