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Divine Fancies

Digested into Epigrammes, Meditations, and Observations. By Fra: Quarles
  
  
  

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53. On Bread.
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53. On Bread.

Take up that bitt of Bread: And understand,
What 'tis thou holdest in thy carelesse hand:
Observeit with thy thoughts, and it will reade thee,
An usefull Lecture, ev'n as well as feed thee;
We stirre our Lands, or give directions how;
But God must send a season for the Plough:
We sowe our Seede; But sowe our seed in vaine,
If Heav'n deny the first, the later Raine;
Small proofe in Showrs, if heavn's pleas'd hand shall cease
To bless those Showrs, nor crown thē with encrease:

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The tender Blades appeare, before thine eye,
But, unrefresht by heav'n, as soone they dye:
The infant Eares shoot forth, and now begin
To corne: But God must hold his Mildewes in:
The Harvest's come: But Clouds conspire together
Hands cannot work, til heav'n shal clear the wether:
At length 'tis reap'd: Between the Barne and Furrow
How many Offices poore Man runs thorow!
Now God has done his part: The rest we share
To Man: His providence takes now the care:
No; yet it is not ours: The use alone,
Not bare possession, makes the thing our owne:
Thy swelling Barnes have crownd thy full desire;
But heav'n, when Mows shold sweat, can make them fire;
I, but the Sheaves are thrasht, & the heap lies
In thy full Garnier: He that sent the Flyes
To Pharoes Court, can, with as great an ease,
Send thee more wastfull vermin, if he please:
Perchance 'tis groūded, kneded: And what though?
Gods Curse is often temper'd with the Dough;
Beleeve't the fruits of all thy toyle, is mine,
Vntill they be enjoy'd, as much as thine:
But now t'has fed thee: Is thy soule at rest?
Perchance, thy stomacks dainty to digest:
No, if heav'ns following favour do not last
From the first Furrow to the very Tast,
Thy labour's lost: The Bread of all thy travill,
Without that blessing, feeds no more then Gravill:
Now wastfull Man, thou mayst repose againe
That Modell of Gods Prov'dence and thy paine;
That bitt of Bread; And if thy Dogg shold fawne
Vpon thy lappe, let not so deare a Pawne

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Of greater plenty be contemn'd and lost;
Remember how it came, and what it cost.