Thy Oken draught-Tree drawe, put to the paine
Thy Goad imposes. And thy Boy behinde,
That with his Iron Rake thou hast design’d,
To hide thy seed, Let from his labour drive
The Birds, that offer on thy sweat to liue.
The best thing, that in humane Needs doth fall,
Is Industry; and Sloath the worst of all.
With one thy Corne ears shall with fruit abound;
And bow their thankfull forheads to the ground;
With th’ other, scarce thy seed again redound.