She knows a fair look is but a dumb orator to commend virtue, therefore
minds it not. All her excellences stand in her so silently, as if they
had stolen upon her without her knowledge. The lining of her apparel
(which is herself) is far better than outsides of tissue; for though she
be not arrayed in the spoil of the silk-worm, she is decked in
innocency, a far better wearing. She doth not, with lying long a-bed,
spoil both her complexion and conditions; Nature hath taught her too
immoderate sleep is rust to the soul; she rises therefore with
chanticleer, her dame's cock, and at night makes lamb her curfew. In
milking a cow and straining the teats through her fingers, it seems that
so sweet a milk-press makes the milk the whiter or sweeter; for never
came almond glove or aromatic ointment off her palm to taint it. The
golden ears of corn fall and kiss her feet when she reaps them, as if
they wished to be bound and led prisoners by the same hand that felled
them. Her breath is her own, which scents all the year long of June,
like a new made haycock. She makes her hand hard with labour, and her
heart soft with pity; and when winter's evenings fall early (sitting at
her merry wheel) she sings a defiance to the giddy wheel of fortune. She
doth all things with so sweet a grace, it seems ignorance will not
suffer her to do ill, because her mind is to do well. She bestows her
year's wages at next fair; and, in choosing her garments, counts no
bravery in the world like decency.
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