Why did the knees prevent me? or why the breasts that I should suck?
Ver. 12. Why did the knees prevent me?] Why did the too officious midwife lay me on her lap, and not let me alone to perish by my fatal helplessness? Man is a poor shiftless creature; and Pliny rails at nature for producing him so forlorn, naked, and unable to help himself; but he knew not that this was a fruit of sin. Cicero indeed could say (whether he believed himself therein I know not), Cum primum nascimur, in omni continuo pravitate versamur, as soon as we are born we are head and ears all over in wickedness; but Pliny was not so persuaded, as I have elsewhere showed.
Or why the breasts that I should suck?] Why did not my mother turn tigress, and cast me out when newly born? Why was she not cruel, like the ostriches in the wilderness, that refuse to give suck to their young ones? Rather we may ask, Why doth not Job, out of his deepest discontent, think much of such a mercy; and rather bless God, first, for filling two such bottles with milk for him, ready against he came into the world? and then, for giving his mother a heart to suckle him, which some nice or unnatural women will not, being therein worse than those sea monsters, Lamentations 4:3, that help their young? The heathens called their Ceres (queen of plenty) Mammosam, as the nurse of all living creatures; and there are that derive God's name Shaddai from shad, a dug; because, as he openeth the hand, so he draws out the breast to every living thing. And for his saints, they may suck and be satisfied with the full strutting breasts of his consolations, the two Testaments, Isaiah 66:11. And whatever Job now (under a heavy temptation, which, like lead, sunk downward, and carried his soul with. it) may misjudge, they may sit and sing thankfully with David, Lord, thou (and not the midwife) art he that took me out of the womb; thou (and not my mother) keptest me in safety when I hung upon the breasts; neither then only, but afterwards, for puerilitas est periculorum pelagus, and the preserver of men keepeth us still from a thousand deaths and dangers. And is this matter of complaint, and not rather of thankfulness?