For the good, when praised, feel something of disgust, if to excess commended.
Lady, the sun's light to our eyes is dear, And fair the tranquil reaches of the sea, And flowery earth in May, and bounding waters; And so right many fair things I might praise; Yet nothing is so radiant and so fair As for souls childless, with desire sore-smitten, To see the light of babes about the house.
Silence and chaste reserve is woman's genuine praise, and to remain quiet within the house.
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