Book III, 71: On the Penny

He that endur'd the Tyranny of Heate;
The Morning-sorrowes, and the Midday-sweat;
The Evening-toyle, and burthen of the Day,
Had but his promis'd Penny for his pay:
Others, that loyter'd all the Morning; stood
Ith' idle Market, whose unpractis'd blood
Scarse felt the warmth of labour, nor could show
A blush of Action, had his Penny too.
What Wages can we merit, as our owne?
Slaves that are bought with price, can challeng none,
But onely Stripes: alas, if Servants could
Doe more, then bid, they doe but what they should
When man endeavours, and where heav'n engages
Himselfe by promise, they are Gifts, not Wages,
He must expect: We must not looke t'obtaine
Because we Run; Nor doe we run in vaine:
Our Running showes th'effect, produces none:
The Penny's giv'n alike to every one,
That works ith' Vinyard: Equall price was shar'd
T'unequall workes: Therefore no Reward:
Lord, set my hands a worke: I will not serve
For Wages, lest thou give what I deserve.