sing of wars, of captains, and of kings,
Of cities founded, commonwealth
For my are too :
they all, or each
poets and historians set these forth,
My shall not so their worth.
But when my wond'ring eyes and envious heart
do but read
I do did not
Twixt him and me that ;
Bartas can do what a Bartas will
But simple I according to my
From schoolboy's tongue no we expect,
Nor yet a sweet from broken strings,
perfect beauty where's a main defect;
My foolish, broken, blemished
Muse so sings,
And this to mend, alas, no art is able,
"Cause made it so
Nor can I, like that fluent
lisped at first, in future times speak plain.
By art he gladly found
what he did seek,
A full of his striving
Art can do much, but this most sure:
I am to each
says my hand a needle better fits,
A poet's pen all scorn I should
For such they cast on female ;
If what I do
well, it won't advance,
say it's stol'n, or else it was by chance.
But sure the antique Greeks were far more mild
of our sex, why they
And made ;
So 'mongst the rest they placed the arts divine;
But this weak
they will full soon untie,
Let Greeks be Greeks, and
have and still
It is but vain unjustly to wage war;
Men can do
best, and .
Preeminence in all and each is yours;
Yet grant of
And oh ye high flown that soar the
And ever with your still catch your
If e'er you these lowly lines your eyes,
Give wreath, I ask
This mean and
unrefined ore of mine
Will make your glist'ring gold but more to
Thou ill-form'd of my feeble
Who after birth did'st by my side remain,
snatcht from thence by friends, less wise than true
Who thee abroad,
expos'd to publick view;
Made thee in rags, halting to th' press to
Where errors were not lessened (all may judge)
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 was so irksome in my
Yet being mine own, at length affection would
blemishes amend, if so I could:
I wash'd thy face, but more defects
And rubbing off a spot, still made a flaw.
stretcht thy joints to make thee ,
Yet still thou
run'st more hobbling than is meet;
In better dress to trim thee was
But nought save home-spun cloth, i' th' 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
If for thy father askt, say, thou hadst none:
for thy mother, ,
Which caus'd her thus to send thee out of door.
Apostrophe,Comparison and Conceit: Analysis of 'The Author to Her Book'" by
Lines from "In Honor of That High and Mighty Princess"
...Now say, have women worth? or have they none?
Or had they
some, but with our Queen is 't gone?
Nay masculines, you have thus
taxed us long.
But she, though dead, will vindicate our wrong.
Let such as say our sex is void or reason
Know 'tis a slander
now but once was treason.
Bradstreet Poems (study texts):
"A Letter to
Her Husband, Absent Upon Public Employment"
"To My Dear
and Loving Husband'