And so yet a greater slave is he to a lifelong yoke,So long lives he to fire blank of a charm,that misty eyes barely see and blunt its foolhardy savest not him from the jaws of a lion's paws,So it with muse that they muse,how then can they thee muse? Painted by blur to make complement to a proud but numbed verses,Over the hellish rupture that kismet itself is as unfair and villainous as the alacrity and winces and trip that they could take,This heresy transcribed in the nether's beneath,bearing the eloquence of vain cheeks more than varnish tongue can expre,Mine eyes hath seen the folly of the sons of men,of disgusting young and old,One with blurred vista and then the other smarter still coagulate,But little choices and sturdy verdict maketh a different,And the smartest at heart at the senile bough,evades a beggardom be and yet still a foolhardy by motherwit a silvermoon by morning flees,Alacrity and gallantry speaks volume much more sacred than royal sinew embroach'd to peep in the sun's eyes and barely sink
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