Sonnet-101- : Or being struck with trash,oh i am a worthless man at arms,they of gallery players and ovation drum beaten blue and thy bough be prisoner of war,i be not in the jabberring mouth,let my love for the nocturnal ambush's eulogy and strategem be.
A warrior's face with motherwit's own feet plaited,hast thou the musculature of the trembling sand of thy bough?why didst thou the glorious herald so bounteous a frolic delay and gravest thee grumble with frosty perk,To let debased clouds over this wobbling realm tentacles' aloft ,gliding in their hoover rottened hops of mocking birds,tis the gauchy cloud not compassionate to swallow them in this nebula,the open sore at Alupluto still gravely sore deeply stinking debris like hallitosis stinks greedily,Nor a relief give a palatable dose of physic,worthy of a beffitting solace,Though thou flex yet love i crave for the ambush strategem should overide whatsoever all entreaties,The warrior strength lay in stealth but covert ambush,to him that bears the torch and bastinado bears the stick to wield it unawared,oh the tales of glorious herald with their golden pearls is worth emulating in this darkest hours without which this morass,from the pit of hell persist,And they die by the sword,they that win by the sword.
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