Young Hebrew
Help him not then, and push your safety away:
I for my part will be his backward eye,
His hands when they are shut. Ah! Abinoah!
Like a bad smell from the soul of Moses dipt
In the mire of lust he hangs round him;
And if his slit-like eyes could tear right out
The pleasure Moses on his daughter had,
She’d be as virgin as ere she came nestling
Into that fierce unmanageable blood,