Several Poems, Title page – Prologue
SEVERAL POEMS Compiled with great variety of Wit and Learning, full of Delight; Wherein eſpecially is contained a compleat Diſcourſe, and Deſcription of The Four
ELEMENTS
CONSTITUTIONS,
AGES of Man,
SEASONS of the Yea…
Together with an exact Epitome of the three firſt Monarchyes Viz. The
ASSYRIAN,
PERSIAN,
GRECIAN.
And beginning of the Romane Common-wealth to the end of their laſt King: With diverſe other pleaſant & ſerious Poems,
By a Gentlewoman in New-England.
The ſecond Edition, Corrected by the Author, and enlarged by an Addition of ſeveral other Poems found amongſt her Papers after her Death.
Boſton, Printed by John Foſter, 1678.
Kind Reader:
HAd I opportunity but to borrow ſome of the Authors wit, 'tis poſſible I might ſo trim this curious work with ſuch quaint expreſſions, as that the Preface might beſpeak thy further Peruſal; but I fear 'twill be a ſhame for a Man that can ſpeak ſo little, To be ſeen in the title page of this Womans Book, leſt by comparing the one with the other, the Reader …hould paſs his ſentence that it is the gift of wom…n not only to ſpeak moſt but to ſpeak beſt; I ſhall leave therefore to commend that, which with any ingenious Reader will too much commend the Author, unleſs men turn more peeviſh then women, to envy the excellency of the inferiour Sex. I doubt not but the Reader will quickly find more then I can ſay, and the worſt effect of his reading will be unbelief, which will make him queſtion whether it be a womans work, and aske, Is is poſſible? If any do, take this as an anſwer from him that dares avow it; It is the Work of a Woman, honoured, and eſteemed where ſhe lives, for her gracious demeanour, her eminent parts, her pious converſation, her courteous diſpoſition, her exact diligence in her place, and diſcreet managing of her Family occaſions, and more then ſo, theſe Poems are the fruit but of ſome few houres, curtailed from her ſleep and other refreſhments. I dare adde little leſt I keep thee too long; if thou wilt not believe the worth of theſe things (in their kind) when a man ſayes it, yet believe it from a woman when thou ſeeſt it. This only I ſhall annex, I fear the diſpleaſure of no perſon in the publiſhing of theſe Poems but the Author, without whoſe knowledg, and contrary to her expectation, I have preſumed to bring to publick view, what ſhe reſolved in ſuch a manner ſhould never ſee the Sun; but I found that diverſe had gotten ſome ſcattered Papers, affected them well, were likely to have ſent forth broken pieces, to the Authors prejudice, which I thought to prevent, as well as to pleaſure thoſe that earneſtly deſired the view of the whole.
MErcury ſhew'd Apollo, Bartas Book,
Minerva this and wiſht him well to look,
And tell uprightly, which did which excell,
He view'd and view'd, and vow…d he could not tel.
They bid him Hemiſphear his mouldy noſe,
With's crackt leering glaſſes, for it would poſe
The beſt brains he had in's old pudding-pan,
Sex weigh'd, which beſt the Woman, or the Man?
He peer'd, and por'd, & glar'd, & ſaid for wore,
I'me even as wiſe now, as I was before:
They both 'gan laugh, and ſaid, it was no mar'l
The Auth'reſs was a right Du Bartas Girle.
Good ſooth quoth the old Don, tell ye me ſo,
I muſe whither at length theſe Girls will go;
It half revives my chil froſt-bitten blood,
To ſee a Woman once, do ought that's good;
And chode by Chaucers Boots, and Homers Furrs,
Let Men look to't, leaſt Women wear the Spurrs:
N. Ward.
To my dear Siſter, the Author of theſe Poems.
THough moſt that know me, dare (I think) affirm
I ne're was born to do a Poet harm,
Yet when I read your pleaſant witty ſtrains,
It wrought ſo ſtrongly on my addle brains;
That though my verſe be not ſo finely ſpun,
And ſo (like yours) cannot ſo neatly run,
Yet am I willing, with upright intent,
To ſhew my love without a com…lement.
There needs no painting to tha… …mely face,
That in its native beauty hath ſuch grace;
What I (poor ſilly I) prefix therefore,
Can but do this, make yours admir'd the more,
And if but only this, I do attain
Content, that my diſgrace may be your gain.
If women, I with women may compare,
Your works are ſolid, others weak as Air;
Some Books of Women I have heard of late,
Peruſed ſome, ſo witleſs, intricate,
So void of ſenſe, and truth, as if to erre
Were only wiſht (acting above their ſphear)
And all to get, what (ſilly Souls) they lack,
Eſteem to be the wiſeſt of the pack;
Though (for your ſake) to ſome this be permitted,
To print yet wiſh I many better witted;
Their vanity make this to be enquired,
If Women are with wit and ſence inſpired:
Yet when your Works ſhall come to publick view,
'Twill be affirm'd, 'twill be confirm'd by you:
And I▪ when ſeriouſly I had revolved
What you had done I preſently reſolved,
Theirs was the Perſons, not the Sexes failing,
And therefore did be-ſpeak a modeſt vailing.
You have acutely in Eliza's ditty,
Acquitted Women, elſe I might with pitty,
Have wiſht them all to womens Works to look,
And never more to meddle with their book.
What you have done, the Sun ſhall witneſs bear,
That for a woman Work 'tis very rare;
And if the Nine, vouchſafe the Tenth a place,
I think they rightly may yield you that grace.
But leaſt I ſhould exceed, and too much love,
Should too too much endear'd affection move,
To ſuper-adde in praiſes, I ſhall ceaſe,
Leaſt while I pleaſe my ſelf I ſhould diſpleaſe
The longing Reader, who may chance complain,
And ſo requite my love with deep diſdain;
That I your ſilly Servant, ſtand i'th' Porch,
Lighting your Sun-light, with my blinking Torch;
Hindring his minds content, his ſweet repoſe,
Which your delightful Poems do diſcloſe
When once the Caskets op'ned, yet to you
Let this be added, then I'le bid adieu,
If you ſhall think, it will be to your ſhame
To be in print, then I muſt bear the blame:
If't be a fault, 'tis mine, 'tis ſhame that might
Deny ſo fair an Infant of its right,
To look abroad; I know your modeſt mind,
How you will bluſh complain, 'tis too unkind:
To force a womans birth provoke her pain,
Expoſe her labours to the Worlds diſdain.
I know you I ſay, you do defie that mint,
That ſtampt you thus to be a fool in print.
'Tis true it doth not now ſo neatly ſtand,
As if 'twere polliſht with your own ſweet hand;
'Tis not ſo richly deckt, ſo trimly tir'd,
Yet it is ſuch as juſtly is admir'd.
If it be folly, 'tis of both, or neither,
Both you and I, we'l both be fo…s together;
And he that ſayes, 'tis fooliſh, … my word
May ſway) by my conſent ſhall make the third,
I dare out-face the worlds diſdain for both,
If you alone profeſs you are not wroth;
Yet if you are, a Womans wrath is little,
When thouſands elſe admire you in each Tittle.
… W.
Ʋpon the Author; by a known Friend.
NOw I believe Tradition, which doth call
The Muſes, Virtues, Graces, Females all;
Only they are not nine, eleven nor three;
Our Auth' r…ſs proves them but one unity.
Mankind take up ſome bluſhes on the ſcore;
Monopolize perfection no more;
In your own Arts, confeſs your ſelves out-done,
The Moon hath totally eclips'd the Sun
Not with her ſable Mantle muffl…ng him,
But her bright ſilver makes his gol… lo…k aim:
Juſt as his beams force our pa… lamps to wi…k,
And earthly Fires, within their aſhes ſhrink.
B. W.
I cannot wonder at Apollo now,
That he with Female Laurel crown'd his brow,
That made him witty: had I leave to choſe,
My Verſe ſhould be a page unto your Muſe
C. B.
In praiſe of the Author, Miſtris Anne Bradſtreet, Virtues true and lively Pattern, Wife of the Worſhipfull Simon Bradſtreet Eſq
At preſent reſiding in the Occidental parts of the World in America, Alias NOV-ANGLIA.
WHat golden ſplendent STAR is this ſo bright,
One thouſand Mile… …wice told, both day and night,
(From th' Orient firſt ſprung) now from the Weſt
That ſhines; ſwift-winged Phoebus, and the reſt
Of all Jove's fiery flames ſurmounting far
As doth each Planet, every falling Star;
By whoſe divine and lucid light moſt clear
Natures dark ſecret myſteryes appear;
Heavens, Earths, admired wonders, noble acts
Of Kings and Princes moſt heroick facts,
And what e're elſe in darkneſs ſeem'd to dye,
Revives all things ſo obvious now to th' eye,
That he who theſe its glittering rayes views o're,
Shall ſee what's done in all the world before.
N. H.
Upon the Author.
'TWere extream folly ſhould I dare attempt,
To praiſe this Authors worth with complement;
None but her ſelf muſt dare commend her parts,
Whoſe ſublime brain's the Synopſis of Arts.
Nature and skill, here both in one agree,
To frame this Maſter-piece of Poetry:
Falſe Fame, belye their Sex no more, it can
Surpaſs, or parallel, the beſt of Man.
C. B.
Another to Mrs. Anne Bradſtreet, Author of this Poem.
I'Ve read your Poem (Lady) and admire,
Your Sex to ſuch a pitch ſhould e're aſpire;
Go on to write, continue to relate,
New Hiſtoryes, of Monarchy and State:
And what the Romans to their Poets gave,
Be ſure ſuch honour, and eſteem you'l have.
H. S.
An Anagram. Anna Bradeſtreate Deer neat An Bartas.
So Bartas like thy fine ſpun Poems been,
That Bartas name will prove an Epicene.
Another. Anne Bradſtreate Artes bred neat An.
ƲPON Mrs. Anne Bradſtreet Her Poems, &c.
MADAM, twice through the Muſes Grove I walkt,
Under your bliſsfull bowres, I ſhrowding there,
It ſeem'd with Nymphs of Helicon I talkt.
For there thoſe ſweet-lip'd Siſters ſporting were,
Apollo with his ſacred Lute ſate by,
On high they made their heavenly Sonnets flye,
Poſies around they ſtrow'd, of ſweeteſt Poeſie.
2
Twice have I drunk the Nectar of your lines,
Which high ſublim'd my mean born phantaſie.
Fluſht with theſe ſtreams of your Maronean wines
Above my ſelf rapt to an extaſie:
Methought I was upon mount Hiblas top,
There where I might thoſe fragran… flowers lop,
Whence did ſweet odors flow, and honey ſpangles drop.
3
To Ʋen…s ſhrine no Altars raiſed are,
Nor venom'd ſhafts from painted quiver ſly,
Nor wanton Doves of Aphrodites Carr,
Or fluttering there, nor here forlornly lie,
Lorne Paramours, not chatting birds tell news
How ſage Apollo, Daphne hot purſues,
Or ſtately Jove himſelf is wont to haunt the ſtews.
4
Nor barking Satyrs breath, nor driety clouds
Exhal'd from Styx, their diſmal drops diſtil
Within theſe Fairy, flowry fields, nor ſhrouds
The ſcreeching night Raven, with his ſhady quill:
But Lyrick ſtrings here Orpheus nimbly hitts,
Orion on his ſadled Dolphin ſits,
Chanting as every humour, age & ſeaſon fits.
5
Here ſilver ſwans, with Nightingales ſet ſpells,
Which ſweetly charm the Traveller, and raiſe
Earths earthed Monarchs, from their hidden Cells,
And to appearance ſummons lapſed dayes,
There heav'nly air, becalms the ſwelling frayes,
And fury fell of Elements allayes.
By paying every one due tribute of his praiſe.
6
This ſeem'd the Scite of all thoſe verdant vales,
And purled ſprings, whereat the Nymphs do play,
With lofty hills, where Poets rear their tales,
To heavenly vaults, which heav'nly ſound repay
By ecchoes ſweet rebound, here Ladyes kiſs,
Circling nor ſongs, nor dances circle miſs;
But whilſt thoſe Syrens ſung, I ſunk in ſea of bliſs.
7
Thus weltring in delight, my virgin mind
Admits a rape; truth ſtill lye… undiſcri'd,
Its ſingular, that plural ſeem'd, I find,
'Twas Fancies glaſs alone that multipli'd;
Nature with Art ſo cloſely did combine,
I thought I ſaw the Muſes trebble trine,
Which prov'd your lonely Muſe, ſuperiour to the nine.
8
Your only hand thoſe Poeſies did compoſe,
Your head the ſource, whence all thoſe ſprings did flow,
Your voice, whence changes ſweeteſt notes aroſe,
Your feet that kept the dance alone, I trow:
Then vail your bonnets, Poetaſters all,
Strike, lower amain and at theſe humbly fall,
And deem your ſelves advanc'd to be her Pedeſtal.
9
Should all with lowly Congies Laurel… bring,
Waſte Floraes Magazine to find a wreathe;
Or Pineus Banks 'twere too mean offering,
Your Muſe a fairer Garland doth bequeath
To guard your fairer front; here 'tis your name
Shall ſtand immarbled; this your little frame
Shall great Coloſſus be, to your eternal fame.
I'le pleaſe my ſelf, though I my ſelf diſgrace,
What errors here be found, are in Errataes place.
J. Rogers.
To her moſt Honoured Father Thomas Dudley Eſq theſe humbly preſented.
DEar Sir of late delighted with the ſightT. D. On the four parts of the world.
Of your four Siſters cloth'd in black and white,
Of fairer Dames the Sun ne'r ſaw the face;
Though made a pedeſtal for Adams Race;
Their worth ſo ſhines in thoſe rich lines you ſhow
Their paralels to finde I ſcarcely know
To climbe their Climes, I have nor ſtrength nor skill
To mount ſo high requires an Eagles quill;
Yet view thereof did cauſe my thoughts to ſoar▪
My lowly pen might wait upon thoſe four
I bring my four times four, now meanly clad
To do their homage, unto yours, full glad:
Who for their Age, their worth and quality
Might ſeem of yours to claim precedency:
But by my humble hand, thus rudely pen'd
They are, your bounden handmaids to attend
Theſe ſame are they from whom we being have
Theſe are of all, the Life the Nurſe, the Grave,
Theſe are the hot, the cold, the moiſt, the dry,
That ſink, that ſwim, that fill, that upwards fly,
Of theſe conſiſts our bodies, Cloathes and Food,
The World, the uſeful hurtful, and the good,
Sweet harmony they keep, yet jar oft times
Their diſcord doth appear, by theſe har…h rimes
Yours did conteſt for wealth, for Ar…s for Age,
My firſt do ſhew their good, and then their rage.
My other foures do intermixed tell
Each others faults, and where themſelves excell,
How hot and dry contend with moiſt and cold,
How Air and Earth no correſpondence hold,
And yet in equal tempers, how they 'gree
How divers natures make one Unity
Something of all (though mean) I did intend
But fear'd you'ld judge Du Bartas was my friend
I honour him, but dare not wear his wealth
My goods are true (though poor) I love no ſtealth
But if I did I durſt not ſend them you
Who muſt reward a Thief, but with his due.
I ſhall not need, mine innocence to clear
Theſe ragged lines, will do't, when they appear:
On what they are, your mild aſpect I crave
Accept my beſt, my worſt vouchſafe a Grave.
From her that to your ſelf, more duty owes
Then water in the boundeſs Ocean flows.
March 20. 1642. ANNE BRADSTREET.
THE PROLOGUE.
1.
TO ſing of Wars, of Captains, and of Kings,
Of Cities founded, Common-wealths begun,
For my mean pen are too ſuperiour things:
Or how they all, or each their dates have run
Let Poets and Hiſtorians ſet theſe forth,
My obſcure Lines ſhall not ſo dim their worth.
2.
But when my wondring eyes and envious heart
Great Bartas ſugar'd lines, do but read o're
Fool I do grudg the Muſes did not part
'Twixt him and me that overfluent ſtore,
A Bartas can, do what a Bartas will
But ſimple I according to my skill.
3.
From ſchool-boyes tongue no rhet'rick we expect
Nor yet a ſweet Conſort from broken ſtrings,
Nor perfect beauty, where's a main defect:
My fooliſh, broken blemiſh'd Muſe ſo ſings
And this to mend, alas, no Art is able,
'Cauſe nature, made it ſo irreparable.
4.
Nor can I, like that fluent ſweet tongu'd Greek,
Who liſp'd at firſt, in future times ſpeak plain
By Art he gladly found what he did ſeek
A full requital of his, ſtriving pain
Art can do much, but this maxime's moſt ſure
A weak or wounded brain admits no cure.
5.
I am obnoxious to each carping tongue
Who ſays my hand a nee…le better fits,
A Poets pen all ſcorn I ſhould thus wrong,
For ſuch deſpite they caſt on Female wits:
If what I do prove well, it won't advance,
They'l ſay it's ſtoln, or elſe it was by chance.
6.
But ſure the Antique Greeks were far more mild
Elſe of our Sexe, why feigned they thoſe Nine
And poeſy made, Calliop… 's own Child;
So 'mongſt the reſt they placed the Arts Divine.
But this weak knot, they will full ſoon untie,
The Greeks did nought, but play the fools & lye.
7.
Let Greeks be Greeks, and women what they are
Men have precedency and ſtill excell,
It is but vain unjuſtly to wage warre;
Men can do beſt, and women know it well
Preheminence in all and each is yours;
Yet grant ſome ſmall acknowledgement of ours.
8.
And oh ye high flown quills that ſoar the Skies,
And ever with your prey ſtill catch your praiſe,
If e're you daigne theſe lowly lines your eyes
Give Thyme or Parſley wreath I ask no bayes,
This mean and unrefined ure of mine
Will make you gliſtring gold, but more to ſhine: