Summer came, and the descending hail-storms
Dashed the early ears down, half destroying;
Autumn came, and frosts the remnant blasted.
Pavo’s wife she smote her breast, exclaiming:
“Pavo, Pavo! man the most unhappy,
Let us die, for God hath us forsaken:
Hard it is to die, to live is harder!”
Pavo took her hand, and thus he answered:
“God doth try his servant, not forsake him;
Bread made half of bark must still suffice us!