And the rich grain, which fills the furrow’d glade, Rots in the seed, or shrivels in the blade; Or too much sun burns up, or too much rain Drowns, or black blights destroy the blasted plain; Or greedy birds the new-sown seed devour; Or darnel, thistles, and a crop impure Of knotted grass, along the acres stand, And spread their thriving roots through all the land.