SONNET 74

Sonnet.74-What is it that runnest foul and speakest foul?What speakest guille which atrophy can it more make than this rung of noblest villains can utter that thou aloof abhor?In whose contraption computed time is the constraint, Which shouldst ample retreat where disuse expell'd,Miser sloth within that panorama,prejudices not even its ilks,But he of the genealogy of forward violets,of the grandiose purple passage,if indeed he can grapple,that you out in a thump,distinguishes thee by history,Let art but an unction of what is in you is noblest,making a smithereens what parlous space made so sanguine by history,And so counterpoise shall his writ frame,Raking in bounteous prizes upon this sloth of imprecated dawn

Rused manner'd ruse shall in vile manners ruse holds still,which adulation of your benign poise,ostentiously gestur'd,Baits their banacle with this golden boredom,and sacred nuggets by all ruses of chickenheart'd poxes frosty leaden'd,Methinks debas'd thoughts and poor graces,dislodge them from golden morn,while they the forward violets paint the town red with silverspoon and silver moon festivity.