Tis not enough for one that is a wife
To keepe her spotles from an act of ill;
But from suspition she should free her life,
And bare herself of power as well as will.
Tis not so glorious for her to be free,
As by her proper self restrained to be.

When she hath spatious grounde to walke upon,
Why on the ridge should she desire to goe?
It is no glory to forbear alone,
Those things that may her honour overthrowe
But tis thanke-worthy, if she will not take
All lawful liberties for honours sake.

That wife her hand against her fame doth reare,
That more than to her Lord alone will give
A private word to any second eare,
And though she may with reputation live.
And though most chast, she doth her glory blot,
And wounds her honour, though she killes it not.

When to their Husbands they themselves doe bind,
Doe they not wholy give themselves away?
Or give they but their body not their mind,
Reserving that though best, for others pray?
No sure, their thoughts can no more be their owne,
And therefore should to none but one be knowne.

Then she usurpes upon anothers right
That seeks to be by publike language grac't:
And though her thoughts reflect with purest light,
Her mind if not peculiar is not chast.
For in a wife it is no worse to find
A common body, then a common mind.

And every mind though free from thought of ill,
That out of glory seeks a worth to show:
When any's ears but one therewith they fill,
Doth in a sort her pureness overthrow.
Now Mariam had, (but that to this she bent)
Been free from fear, as well as innocent.