Gentle was the maiden of the Zou clan, whose father once served in the ranks.
She married a farmer, and her diligence in wifely duties was praised.
Her husband grew lazy in his farming, staying at the market on the outskirts.
Firewood and meals were not timely provided, stored grain did not fill the jar.
Past thirty years of age, her face pale, her temples tinged with blue.
A young man on horseback, who saw her once, wished to win her glance.
He lingered, unwilling to leave, as the setting sun hung crimson.
When her husband went out with a basket, he approached to confess his private feelings.
He showed her gold from his chest, offering a gift not light.
With stern countenance she scolded him away; his horse he could not mount.
Not long after, an old madman came, with bedding asking for lodging.
By a hundred schemes he tried to speak with her, pouring wine hoping to share.
Before the window she sorted leftover hemp, ignoring his empty pleas.
Again he brought out a fragrant silk pouch, wrapped in five-colored silk.
Presented with solemnity, though she accepted, her heart was not at peace.
She stored it in a worn chest, her mind set on a plan.
Pretending to ask him to wait a while, she turned and bolted the wooden gate.
Loudly she called to the four neighbors, her sorrowful cries unbearable to hear.
Hesitant, her husband also returned, bound him and brought him to the county court.
The county magistrate, hating evil, praised and encouraged her strength.
Patting the table, he sighed thrice, regretting the lack of corporal punishment now.
I hear of Qiu Hu's wife, whose death left an immortal name.
And I hear of Luo Fu of old, whose words were upright and clear.
Each life has its own mate; do not encroach upon another.
Alas, the world is muddled and turbid, the strong and violent invade and oppress.
Zou was originally a humble person, her upbringing not refined.
Yet clinging to poverty and hardship, she guarded her body like a steadfast wall.
Later generations trace her deeds, enough to match ancient chaste heroines.
Who will take up Dong Hu's brush, to write broadly and spread her lasting fragrance?