Epitaph for an unliberated woman

aka The Tired Womans Epitaph. By that prolific poet, Anon. No comment required

Here lies a poor woman who always was tired;
She lived in a house where help was not hired.
Her last words on earth were: "Dear friends, I am going
Where washing ain't done, nor sweeping, nor sewing:
But everything there is exact to my wishes;

For where they don't eat there's no washing of dishes.

I'll be where loud anthems will always be ringing
But, having no voice, I'll be clear of the singing.
Don't mourn for me now; don't mourn for me never -
I'm going to do nothing for ever and ever."

Except that the bit about anthems echoes, for me, Hardys Church Romance