Batter my brain, lead foot'd loon; for you *
As yet but screech past, fast, into the bend
So I must brake and stoppe in order to defend
My car from blowes and dints whilst new.
I, like some ravished maid, tis true
lust labour to catch up, but to no end,
Until the traffic slowes you down, my friend
And I drawe up right next to you
Wind downe my window to abuse.
But the lights turn greene, you streake away
Nor ever curst, to sinne another day.
* Holy Sonnet: Batter my heart, three person'd God .....