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Sham'd by the Creature.
The Thankfull Soil Manur'd and Winter Drest,Returns the Hinde an Autumn interest
For all His care and Labour: nor denies
To be uncloath'd, to deck his Grainaries:
So doth the Youthfull Vine those Prunings own,
When as her Blossomes are to Clusters grown;
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That so the Planters Vessels She may fill.
This Vegetable Lecture may indeed
Cast a Blush o'r me, whose return for seed
So far fals short, as not for every one
To bring an Ear; but for a whole Season none,
No not that Corn again was left in trust,
And Harrowed up under My barren Dust:
But pregnant Nature doth so rule and raign,
That with wilde Oats She Choaks the better Grain;
And where My Gratefull Heart should dye my Press,
It's all Besmeared with unthankfulness.
Nor can a Thought, a Word, or Act proceed
Out of My Clay, that turns not straight to Weed:
And for My Fruits, ere Ripeness is begun,
Abortive-like, They wither in the Sun
Of Self-Conceit: Lord prune once more this Vine,
And Plow this Ground, lest the Figtree's doom be Mine.
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