Sonnet 926
(sweet lambs beware)
What wolf is this wound white in fleecy wool,
Who bleats naïve with blood on thirsty lips,
Beguiles a wanderer, for belly full,
Sweet lambs beware; a kiss may feign a kiss:
Tis clover, thickly green o're yon hummock
Avers, this sly toothy mouthed plump ewe,
Coaxing, be unfaithful (for her stomach):
Quickly, before the sun imbibes the dew.
Hasty, very tasty, little lamby,
Retreat thy tears, poor treachery misspent,
You'll soon not miss thy tender family,
Nor have a heart to nurture thy lament.
What soured thee lamb; I beg to question,
Rueful strumpet, now bitter indigestion.
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