He bids for every place he sees, for all he’ll sigh.”
“Dear wife! Chaste, modest matron! Art thou well prepared
Into the tomb to sink, ere thy doomed hour’s declared?
Were I to fill the earth with pearls of countless price,
Thy daily bread thee failing, could they thee entice?145
Then cease from all contention, strive not ’gainst the Lord,
Or separation from thee will be my last word.
What taste have I for strife, contention, or annoy,
When even in peacemakings I’ve no longer joy?
Be quiet! Hold thy peace! Or, by the Lord of life,