Is a Country Wench, that is so farre from making herselfe beautifull by Art, that one Looke of hers is able to put all _Face-Physicke_ out of Countenance. Shee knowes a fayre Looke is but a dumbe Orator to commend Vertue, therefore mindes it not. All her Excellencies stand in her so silently, as if they had stolne upon her without her Knowledge. The Lining of her Apparell (which is her selfe) is farre better than Outsides of Tissew: for tho’ shee be not arraied in the Spoyle of the Silke Worme, shee is deckt in Innocency, a far better Wearing. Shee doth not, with lying long a Bed, spoile both her Complexion and Conditions; Nature hath taught her, _too immoderate Sleepe is rust to the Soul_: She rises therefore with _Chaunticleare_ her Dames Cocke, and at Night makes the Lambe her _Corfew_. In milking a Cow, and straining the Teates through her Fingers, it seemes that so sweet a Milke-Presse makes the Milke the whiter, or sweeter; for never came Almond Glove or Aromatique Oyntment on her Palme to taint it. The golden Eares of Corn fall and kisse her Feete when shee reapes them, as if they wisht to be bound and led Prisoners by the same Hand that fell’d them. Her Breath is her owne, which sents all the Yeere long of _June_, like a new made Hay-cocke. Shee makes her Hand hard with Labour, and her Heart soft with Pitty: And when Winter Evenings fall early (sitting at her merry Wheele) she sings a Defiance to the giddy Wheele of Fortune. Shee doth all things with so sweet a Grace it seemes _Ignorance_ will not suffer her to do Ill, being her Minde is to do Well. Shee bestowes her Yeeres Wages at next Faire; and in chusing her Garments, counts no Bravery i’th’ World, like Decency. The Garden and Bee-hive are all her Physicke and Chyrurgerie, and shee lives the longer for’t. Shee dares goe alone, and unfold Sheepe i’th’ Night, and feares no manner of Ill, because shee meanes none: Yet to say Truth, shee is never alone, for shee is still accompanied with old Songs, honest Thoughts, and Prayers, but short ones; yet they have their Efficacy, in that they are not pauled with insuing idle Cogitations. Lastly, her Dreames are so chaste, that shee dare tell them; onely a Fridaies Dreame is all her Superstition; _that_ she conceales for feare of Anger. Thus lives shee, and all her Care is shee may die in the Spring-Time, to have Store of Flowers stucke upon her winding Sheet.