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Yet what I sowed and what the orchard yields
My brother’s sons are gathering stalk and root,
Small wonder then my children glean in fields
They have not sown, and feed on bitter fruit.
—Arna Bontemps (1902–1973)
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To feed were best at home;
From thence, the sauce to meat is ceremony;
Meeting were bare without it.
—William Shakespeare (1564–1616)