Anne Bradstreet - The Author To Her BookThou ill-formed offspring of my feeble...

The Author To Her BookThou ill-formed offspring of my feeble brain, Who after birth did'st by my side remain, Till snatcht from thence by friends, less wise than true, Who thee abroad exposed to public view, Made thee in rags, halting to th' 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, The visage was so irksome in my sight, Yet being mine own, at length affection wouldThy 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 stretcht thy joints to make thee even feet, Yet still thou run'st more hobbling than is meet. In better dress to trim thee was my mind, But nought save home-spun cloth, i' th' house I find. In this array, 'mongst vulgars may'st thou roam. In critic's hands, beware thou dost not come, And take thy way where yet thou art not known. If for thy father askt, say, thou hadst none; And for thy mother, she alas is poor, Which caused her thus to send thee out of door.

Anne Bradstreet

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Anne Bradstreet Quotes

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The Author To Her BookThou ill-formed offspring of my feeble brain, Who after birth did'st by my side remain, Till snatcht from thence by friends, less wise than true, Who thee abroad exposed to public view, Made thee in rags, halting to th' 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, The visage was so irksome in my sight, Yet being mine own, at length affection wouldThy 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 stretcht thy joints to make thee even feet, Yet still thou run'st more hobbling than is meet. In better dress to trim thee was my mind, But nought save home-spun cloth, i' th' house I find. In this array, 'mongst vulgars may'st thou roam. In critic's hands, beware thou dost not come, And take thy way where yet thou art not known. If for thy father askt, say, thou hadst none; And for thy mother, she alas is poor, Which caused her thus to send thee out of door. Anne Bradstreet

They Said So®

Keywords

author bookthou ill-formed offspring feeble brain birth 'st side remain till snatcht friends wise true thee abroad exposed public view made rags halting ' press trudge errors lessened judge thy return blushing small rambling brat print mother call cast unfit light visage irksome sight mine length affection wouldthy blemishes amend washed face defects rubbing spot flaw stretcht joints make feet thou run'st hobbling meet dress trim mind nought save home-spun cloth i' house find array 'mongst vulgars roam critic' hands beware dost art father askt hadst alas poor caused send door

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