Unchipt, unflead:
Some little sticks of Thorne or Briar
Making a fire,
Close by whose living fire I sit
And glow like it.
Lord, I confess too, when I dine,
The Pulse is Thine,
And all those other bits, that bee
There plac’d by Thee;
The Worts, the Purslaine, and the Messe