By John Donne
Now swome a prison in a prison put,
And now this Soule in double walls was shut,
Till melted with the Swans digestive fire,
She left her house the fish, and vapour'd forth;
Fate not affording bodies of more worth
For her as yet, bids her againe retire
T'another fish, to any new desire
Made a new prey; For, be that can to none
Resistance make, nor complaint, sure is gone.
Weaknesse invites, but silence feasts oppression.