The Walter Robin Manuscripts

Kind, flattering tongue, now be thou my aide: Crowing a song of a worthy Lord's fame; Until promised praise thus proudly is paid; Poor contrivéd verse his own verse would shame.
A mischevious wit of cunning invention: The master's hand taught my fingers to fight.; Honor and style that transcends convention; As blow for blow we the couplets recite.
With a lover's flair and a Puckish grin: With a courtier's tact and a duelist's grace; With a scholar's wit and a poet's ken,; With more virtues yet than are writ in this space.
As fine a fellow, if you've never met him,
But take my advice and don't ever bet him.

...or you'll end up writing sonnets like this.

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