(l) Woe to him that contendeth with his Maker! [Let] the potsherd [contend] with the potsherds of the earth. Shall the clay say to him that fashioneth it, What makest thou? or thy work, (m) He hath no hands?
(l) By this he bridles their impatience, who in adversity and trouble murmur against God, and will not tarry his pleasure: willing that man would match with his like, and not contend against God.
(m) That is, it is not perfectly made.