sonnet #1,649
Godog ex machina deigns me your serf,
In name and title just a triumphant knight,
To pleasant living you have peer born right,
My steed can only stroke at such firm turf.
I couldn't chasten you as you hold court,
I couldn't guide your quill with my gauntlet fist
Through your hornbook's most favoured folk short list,
Insert my name vowing bullying last resort.
We count ourselves untouched by dread black death,
We meander over mirroring still moat,
You under veil, I under crossed surcoat,
Up bailey stairs you billow filtered breath.
The garrison few can yet wage your whim,
My sombre servitude to you my hymn.
(Chorus)
o whim
o caprice
o gambit