THE AUTHOR TO HER BOOK.

Thou ill-formed offspring of my feeble brain,
Who after birth didst by my side remain

Till snatched from thence by friends less wise than true
Who thee abroad exposed to public view,

Made thee, in rags, halting, to the press to trudge,
Where errors were not lessened, all may judge,
At thy return my blushing was not small

My rambling brat-in print- should mother call.
I cast thee by as one unfit for light,

Thy visage was so irksome in my sight;

Yet being mine own, at length affection would

Thy blemishes amend, if so I could.

I washed thy face, but more defects I saw,

And rubbing off a spot still made a flaw.

I stretched thy joints to make thee even feet,
Yet still thou runnest more hobbling than is meet.
In better dress to trim thee was my mind,
But naught save homespun cloth in the house I find.
In this array 'mongst vulgars mayst thou roam,

In critics' hands beware thou dost not come,
And take thy way where yet thou art not known.
If for thy father asked, say thou hadst none;
And for thy mother, she, alas, is poor,

Which caused her thus to send thee out of door.

Several other poems made by the author upon divers occasions were found among her papers after her death, which she never meant should come to public view; amongst which these following, at the desire of some friends that knew her well, are here inserted.

UPON A FIT OF SICKNESS, ANNO 1632.
ÆTATIS SUÆ 19.

Twice ten years old not fully told
Since nature gave me breath,
My race is run, my thread is spun,
Lo, here is fatal Death.

All men must die, and so must I,
This cannot be revoked;

For Adam's sake this word God spake
When he so high provoked.

Yet live I shall this life 's but small.

In place of highest bliss,

Where I shall have all I can crave;

No life is like to this.

For what's this life but care and strife?

Since first we came from womb

Our strength doth waste, our time doth haste,

And then we go to the tomb.

O bubble blast, how long canst last

That always art a-breaking?—
No sooner blown but dead and gone,
E'en as a word that's speaking.
Oh, whilst I live this grace me give,
I doing good may be,

Then death's arrest I shall count best,

Because it's thy decree.

Bestow much cost there's nothing lost

To make salvation sure;

Oh, great's the gain, though got with pain,

Comes by profession pure.

The race is run, the field is won,

The victory's mine, I see, For ever know, thou envious foe,

The foil belongs to thee.

UPON SOME DISTEMPER OF BODY.

In anguish of my heart replete with woes,
And wasting pains which best my body knows,

In tossing slumbers on my wakeful bed,

Bedrenched with tears that flowed from mournful

head

Till nature had exhausted all her store,

Then eyes lay dry, disabled to weep more,

And looking up unto his throne on high
Who sendeth help to those in misery,

He chased away those clouds, and let me see
My anchor cast in the vale with safety;
He eased my soul of woe, my flesh of pain,
And brought me to the shore from troubled main.

BEFORE THE BIRTH OF ONE OF

HER

CHILDREN.

All things within this fading world have end.
Adversity doth still our joys attend;

No ties so strong, no friends so dear and sweet,
But with death's parting blow are sure to meet.
The sentence passed is most irrevocable,
A common thing, yet, oh, inevitable.

How soon, my dear, death may my steps attend,
How soon it may be thy lot to lose thy friend,
We both are ignorant; yet love bids me
These farewell lines to recommend to thee,
That when that knot 's untied that made us one

I may seem thine who in effect am none.
And if I see not half my days that are due,
What nature would God grant to yours and you.

The many faults that well you know I have
Let be interred in my oblivion's grave;

If any worth or virtue were in me,
Let that live freshly in thy memory,

And when thou feelest no grief, as I no harms,
Yet love thy dead, who long lay in thine arms;
And when thy loss shall be repaid with gains
Look to my little babes, my dear remains,
And if thou love thyself, or lovedst me,
These oh protect from stepdam's injury.

And if chance to thine eyes shall bring this verse,
With some sad sighs honor my absent hearse;
And kiss this paper for thy love's dear sake,
Who with salt tears this last farewell did take.

A. B.

TO MY DEAR AND LOVING HUSBAND.

If ever two were one, then surely we;

If ever man were loved by wife, then thee;

If ever wife was happy in a man,

Compare with me, ye women, if you can.

I prize thy love more than whole mines of gold,
Or all the riches that the East doth hold.
My love is such that rivers cannot quench,
Nor aught but love from thee give recompense.
Thy love is such I can no way repay;
The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray.
Then while we live in love let's so persevere
That when we live no more we may live ever.