Classic Poem

Vain are the most of Womankind — —
A virtuous Consort who can find?
In real Value she excells
Whatever shines on Rocks and Shells .

Her Husband's Soul in her confides;
Nor she his Confidence derides:
She seeks his Honour all her Days;
And ne'er her plighted Faith betrays.

Her Industry finds Flax and Wool,
And her own Fingers fill the Spool ;
Her Hands are harden'd at the Wheel,
The Distaff, and the loaded Reel,

Before the Sun she leaves her Bed;
And thus prepares her Houshold Bread:
Her Children and her Servants share
The Bounty of her early Care.

The Field her slothful Neighbour sold
Is hers, with Sums of labour'd Gold:
She plants a Vineyard with the rest;
The Fruit of her own Hands confess'd.

The full-ripe Grape she tastes at length,
And girds her Loins afresh with Strength:
Confirm'd in her industrious Way,
Her Candle lengthens out the Day.

Like those who dare the stormy Seas,
She loaths the Food obtain'd with ease:
Her Hands are open to the Poor;
Their Wants none carry from her Door.

With double Cloathing she defends
Herself and hers, when Snow descends:
In Silk and Purple she appears;
And each Domestic Scarlet wears.

A Price she of the Merchant takes,
For Linnen which her Leisure makes,
Her Husband sits among the Great;
And shines a Senator compleat.

Her Words are all with Wisdom fraught;
And Counsel flows from ev'ry Thought.
Her Honours with her Years increase;
Her last are Days of Joy and Peace.

Like a well-order'd State is seen
Her little Houshold; she the Queen:
Her Children rise, and call her bless'd;
And by her Lord her Worth's confess'd.

Pleas'd with his Choice, he often says — —
Tho' many Daughters merit Praise,
The most distinguish'd you excell,
In ev'ry Art of doing well.

The fading Beauties of a Face
May fail, and ev'ry outward Grace:
But she who fears the Lord shall still
Possess her Husband's best Good-will.

With gentle Words he bids her take
The Plenty which her Fingers make;
And, while her Actions spread her Name,
Confirms the just Report of Fame.