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 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 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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The author to her book thou 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 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 the 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 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 amongst vulgar may you 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

Source: The Works Of Anne Bradstreet

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  1. If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant: if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome."]
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  3. Wisdom with an inheritance is good, but wisdom without an inheritance is better than an inheritance without wisdom.
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