A Sonnet on an unknown rascal
You the one, who often here stalks
By cursed hand doth loudly knocks
All the night in intervals, quick, short
Bangs the door, cause fright at heart
Not a moment lets me have my peace.
Can’t study, write, work or sleep with ease
Rush I in post-haste quick to the door
Lo! gone is he, from sight ran away far.
Rascal’s face unknown, name know I not
Yet, curses for his downfall, let him rot.
You, the one, if thee build a house
Or in thy fair maid’s sweet embrace
May you by all means lose erection
For, in this poet’s words, is there no correction.