By John Donne
Next, hous'd this Soule a Wolves yet unborne whelp,
Till the best midwife, Nature, gave it helpe,
To issue. It could
kill, as soone as goe.
Abel, as white, and milde as his sheepe were,
(Who, in that trade, of Church, and kingdomes, there
Was the first
type) was still infested soe,
With this wolfe, that it bred his losse and
And yet his bitch, his sentinell attends
The flocke so neere,
so well warnes and defends,
That the wolfe, (hopelesse else) to
corrupt her, intends.