ANNE BRADSTREET (c.

1612-1672)

The Prologue to The Tenth Muse

1. To sing of wars, of captains, and of kings,

2. Of cities founded, commonwealths begun,
3. For my mean1 pen are too superior things;
4. Or how they all, or each their dates have run,
5. Let poets and historians set these forth.
6. My obscure lines shall not so dim their worth.

7. But when my wond’ring eyes and envious heart

8. Great Bartas’ 2 sugar’d lines do but read o’er,
9. Fool, I do grudge the Muses3 did not part
10. ‘Twixt him and me that over-fluent store.
11. A Bartas can do what a Bartas will
12. But simple I according to my skill.

13. From school-boy’s tongue no rhet’ric we expect,

14. Nor yet a sweet consort from broken strings,
15. Nor perfect beauty where’s a main defect.
16. My foolish, broken, blemished Muse so sings,
17. And this to mend, alas, no art is able,
18. ‘Cause nature made it so irreparable.

19. Nor can I, like that fluent sweet-tongued Greek

20. Who lisp’d at first, in future times speak plain.
21. By art he gladly found what he did seek,
22. A full requital of his striving pain.
23. Art can do much, but this maxim’s most sure:
24. A weak or wounded brain admits no cure.

25. I am obnoxious to each carping tongue

26. Who says my hand a needle better fits.
27. A poet’s pen all scorn I should thus wrong,
28. For such despite they cast on female wits.
29. If what I do prove well, it won’t advance,
30. They’ll say it’s stol’n, or else it was by chance.

1 Low or humble.
2 Guillaume de Salluste du Bartas (1544-1590), French writer of religious epics, was admired
by the Puritans.
3 The Greek Muses were nine female deities of the arts and the sciences. Calliope, mentioned in

stanza 6, was the muse of epic poetry.

31. But sure the antique Greeks were far more mild,
32. Else of our sex, why feigned they those nine
33. And poesy made Calliope’s own child?
34. So ‘mongst the rest they placed the arts divine,
35. But this weak knot they will full soon untie.
36. The Greeks did nought but play the fools and lie.

37. Let Greeks be Greeks, and women what they are.

38. Men have precedency and still excel;
39. It is but vain unjustly to wage war.
40. Men can do best, and women know it well.
41. Preeminence in all and each is yours;
42. Yet grant some small acknowledgement of ours.

43. And oh ye high flown quills4 that soar the skies,

44. And ever with your prey still catch your praise,
45. If e’er you deign these lowly lines your eyes,
46. Give thyme or parsley wreath, I ask no bays.5
47. This mean and unrefined ore of mine
48. Will make your glist’ring gold but more to shine.

4 Bradstreet calls male poets “high flown quills.” This image plays on the fact that poets' pens
were made out of bird feathers (quills). She combines that idea with synecdoche, by
substituting a reference to a part of a thing (the feather) for the whole (the bird).
5 Bay or laurel leaves were used by the ancient Greeks as a crown of honor
 The Author to Her Book6

1 Thou ill-form'd offspring of my feeble brain,

2 Who after birth did'st by my side remain,
3 Till snatcht from thence by friends, less wise than true,
4 Who thee abroad expos'd to public view,
5 Made thee in rags, halting to th' press to trudge,
6 Where errors were not lessened (all may judge).
7 At thy return my blushing was not small,
8 My rambling brat (in print) should mother call;
9 I cast thee by as one unfit for light,
10 Thy visage was so irksome in my sight;
11 Yet being mine own, at length affection would
12 Thy blemishes amend, if so I could:
13 I wash'd thy face, but more defects I saw,
14 And rubbing off a spot, still made a flaw.
15 I stretcht thy joints to make thee even feet,
16 Yet still thou run'st more hobbling than is meet;
17 In better dress to trim thee was my mind,
18 But nought save home-spun cloth, i' th' house I find.
19 In this array, 'mongst vulgars may'st thou roam;
20 In critics' hands, beware thou dost not come;
21 And take thy way where yet thou art not known,
22 If for thy father asked, say, thou had'st none;
23 And for thy mother, she alas is poor,
24 Which caus'd her thus to send thee out of door.

To My Dear and Loving Husband

1 If ever two were one, then surely we.

2 If ever man were loved by wife, then thee;
3 If ever wife was happy in a man,
4 Compare with me, ye women, if you can.
5 I prize thy love more then whole mines of gold
6 Or all the riches that the East doth hold.
7 My love is such that rivers cannot quench,
8 Nor ought but love from thee, give recompence.
9 Thy love is such I can no way repay,
10 The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray.
11 Then while we live, in love lets so persever
12 That when we live no more, we may live ever.

6Bradstreet's book, The Tenth Muse, was published in 1650. It is thought that she wrote this
poem in 1666, when a second edition seemed to have been considered.
 Before the Birth of One of Her Children

1 All things within this fading world hath end,

2 Adversity doth still our joys attend;
3 No ties so strong, no friends so dear and sweet,
4 But with death's parting blow is sure to meet.
5 The sentence past is most irrevocable,
6 A common thing, yet oh inevitable.
7 How soon, my dear, death may my steps attend,
8 How soon't may be thy lot to lose thy friend,
9 We both are ignorant, yet love bids me
10 These farewell lines to recommend to thee,
11 That when that knot's untied that made us one,
12 I may seem thine, who in effect am none.
13 And if I see not half my days that's due,
14 What nature would, God grant to yours and you;
15 The many faults that well you know I have,
16 Let be interr'd in my oblivion's grave;
17 If any worth or virtue were in me,
18 Let that live freshly in thy memory;
19 And when thou feel'st no grief, as I no harms,
20 Yet love thy dead, who long lay in thine arms.
21 And when thy loss shall be repaid with gains,
22 Look to my little babes, my dear remains.
23 And if thou love thy self, or loved'st me,
24 These O protect from stepdame's injury.
25 And if chance to thine eyes shall bring this verse,
26 With some sad sighs honour my absent hearse;
27 And kiss this paper for thy love's dear sake,
28 Who with salt tears this last farewell did take.
 Verses Upon the Burning of Our House
July 10th, 1666

1. In silent night when rest I took,

2. For sorrow near I did not look,
3. I wakened was with thund’ring noise
4. And piteous shrieks of dreadful voice.
5. That fearful sound of “Fire” and “Fire!”
6. Let no man know is my desire.

7. I, starting up, the light did spy,

8. And to my God my heart did cry
9. To straighten me in my distress
10. And not to leave me succourless.
11. Then, coming out, behold a space
12 The flame consume my dwelling place.

13. And when I could no longer look,

14. I blest His name that gave and took,
15. That laid my goods now in the dust.
16. Yea, so it was, and so ‘twas just.
17. It was his own, it was not mine,
18. Far be it that I should repine;

19. He might of all justly bereft

20. But yet sufficient for us left.
21. When by the ruins oft I past
22. My sorrowing eyes aside did cast
23. And here and there the places spy
24. Where oft I sate and long did lie.

25. Here stood that trunk, and there that chest,

26. There lay that store I counted best.
27. My pleasant things in ashes lie
28. And them behold no more shall I.
29. Under thy roof no guest shall sit,
30. Nor at thy table eat a bit.

31. No pleasant talk shall ‘ere be told

32. Nor things recounted done of old.
33. No candle e'er shall shine in thee,
34. Nor bridegroom’s voice e'er heard shall be.
35. In silence ever shalt thou lie,
36. Adieu, adieu, all’s vanity.
37. Then straight I ‘gin my heart to chide,
38. And did thy wealth on earth abide?
39. Didst fix thy hope on mould'ring dust?
40. The arm of flesh didst make thy trust?
41. Raise up thy thoughts above the sky
42. That dunghill mists away may fly.

43. Thou hast a house on high erect

44. Framed by that mighty Architect,
45. With glory richly furnished,
46. Stands permanent though this be fled.
47. It’s purchased and paid for too
48. By Him who hath enough to do.

49. A price so vast as is unknown,

50. Yet by His gift is made thine own;
51. There’s wealth enough, I need no more,
52. Farewell, my pelf, farewell, my store.
53. The world no longer let me love,
54. My hope and treasure lies above.