THE AUTHOR TO HER BOOK. Thou ill-formed offspring of my feeble brain, Till snatched from thence by friends less wise than true Made thee, in rags, halting, to the press to trudge, My rambling brat-in print- should mother call. 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, In critics' hands beware thou dost not come, 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. Twice ten years old not fully told All men must die, and so must I, For Adam's sake this word God spake 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?— 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, 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 He chased away those clouds, and let me see BEFORE THE BIRTH OF ONE OF HER CHILDREN. All things within this fading world have end. No ties so strong, no friends so dear and sweet, How soon, my dear, death may my steps attend, I may seem thine who in effect am none. The many faults that well you know I have If any worth or virtue were in me, And when thou feelest no grief, as I no harms, And if chance to thine eyes shall bring this verse, 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, |