I’d write thee, dear girl, a sonnet,
But fear that I know not the way;
Would’st thou take as my offer a poem then;
If I rhyme you some words on my way?

Might it be that you’ll love me the better,
Should I rhyme the word love, with above?
May I write in a free-flowing script dear,
While wearing a blue velvet glove?

Oh dear heart, my sweetness, this longing,
To hold you; unbutton your blouse;
Could that be your good father’s reason
For banning me from your fine house?

I’m certain he’d rather I wed you,
After courting you ‘til I be dead;
Doth not the old fellow ken, dear,
I would that we try out your bed?

Ah, loved one, my body doth spasm,
It jerks and I pain to the bone;
I fear now insanity seeks me,
Demanding I get you alone!

My heart be caught up in my throat love,
I slobber and drool as the sow;
Come as this weary hand beckons,
I must have you; must have you now!