PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS' DIARY- SONNET-17

As fast as thou shalt dread,so fast in the pits,thou cringest,In weariness,weary tides thineself weari'd from that which thou squeaky clean pulses,And that whole bag of tricks,that necklaced bah,which so cuddingly bestowest,Thou mayest not wield the bigsticks with brassy bowls of bigotry,when thou thy transmogrify earnestly craves,Herein hibernates to unleash willpower of benign naturewit,Without this stupor of blockheadedness and ill-wind blustery,not a rot of a bolshi'd bloke endears,Let thosewhose naturewit hath not roses rapin'd,for bollocks and booverboots,Brash tide but brassy,notof intemperate bravado,rashness and a feckless decrepit sedulous palms, Which bounteous bravura with eleemosyneries,thou shouldst not bounty reap,let alone sow,guerdon of a priceless hardihood,Andthen impromptu cadence,carve thee a niche that thou mayest to it stuck be,But still counts as the clock,not to let down avaunt tothine girdle clicks, Even still in the stable,endanger'd species,birth and breeding blushes not its brawns