What clear and crisp ship courts do lay tied tongue
Upon the sea of love laws and proverb,
On masts of woe and rot full wood, there flung
Atop acorn littered deck dressed in cob.

A single sailor dare not tread on such,
for one fair slip on round seed will firm plant
an *** of him, and grow a **** at launch,
only to break deck's strength, web wove too scant.

Water calls home that where it finds itself,
sticking in nook and cranny, hid in peace,
and aid it sails down to plants in wealth,
set out to sea in boats begot on lease.

Revocation come calling in wave form;
wake of spiders, with webs of fate they swarm.