SONNET 91

Sonnet 90bThou art bellicose beleaguer'd self, and thee in thyself demystifies now this cuspily discordant of thy moult resistant embitter'd self;inspite of this wrinkles of bunker'd time,But if thou chastity chastitise not,forever dismembered be, Die thy doppelhanger and thine wraith and silvermoon die many times adnauseam.

Sonnet-91- O that you were to pluck from my stars of judgement,O that from that stars do they thy judgement pluck;Be not to thy balloon thy doollaly perk and lay ambush to this ignoble stars of dastardly act 's crotchety crow,of deifi'd deigns,of banal and cabalistic eldorado,exuding comics of thy silvermoon deplete,of seasons'

fritter and bunker'd time fecklessness,deep beneath exterior,Nor can i gilded birth restitution clamour an hour's lost? Extenuating to each fritter but not wittingly extrapolating and earthly introspective,Or deny thy feet of commodious elbowroom if it shall go well to avert this deplete,In this esteem doff i my hat to eulogise the forward violets

By oft,fiasco that in hell find,but from mine eyes my ken surely'Bob's your uncle,'will i utter,And an admonitory bogstandard,they defile beyond compare,As epistemology and eschatology,though not spite shalt surely thrive bogus beneath bossom,If from thyself to scold thou wouldst repugnant fret,Thy bombard is nadir and thy silvermoon unfructiferous and a boo to thy headlong plung'd personage.