Şiir 1
All day their task the busy matrons plied,
Or spinning sat, as to their distaffs tied.
The mother then at night would fold the sheep
Her little daughter us'd by day to keep;
And when at home, would cleave out logs of wood,
25
Or kindle up a fire to boil their food.
But you, by nature form'd in finer moulds,
Must wrap your tender limbs in silken folds;
Wear lawns and tissue, sleep in damask beds,
And with gay knots and wires adorn your heads:
30
Your ears with pendants, lockets on your arms,
Besides a thousand other nameless charms.
Nor needs this care to please a blush create;
The men themselves have learned to dress of late.
You are not now particular in clothes,
35
The husband and the bridegroom both are beaux;
Dress then, and 'tis no sin to dress with art,
For that's the way to wound the lover's heart.
E'en those that live remote in country towns,
Will dress their hair with flowers and daisy crowns,
40
