A satiated soul treadeth down a honeycomb, And [to] a hungry soul every bitter thing [is] sweet.
My soul is refusing to touch! They [are] as my sickening food.
Eat my son, honey that [is] good, And the honeycomb — sweet to thy palate.
Faithful are the wounds of a lover, And abundant the kisses of an enemy.
As a bird wandering from her nest, So [is] a man wandering from his place.
and the people speak against God, and against Moses, ‘Why hast thou brought us up out of Egypt to die in a wilderness? for there is no bread, and there is no water, and our soul hath been weary of this light bread.’
‘There is one little lad here who hath five barley loaves, and two fishes, but these — what are they to so many?’