Page:Anne Bradstreet and her time.djvu/109

Rh But now I come to speak of my disaster, Contention grown, twixt Subjects and their Master; They worded it so long, they fell to blows, That thousands lay on heaps, here bleeds my woes; I that no wars so many years have known, Am now destroy'd and slaughter'd by mine own; But could the Field alone this strife decide, One Battle two or three I might abide. But these may be beginnings of more woe Who knows but this may be my overthrow? Oh, pity me in this sad Perturbation, My plundered Towns, my houses devastation, My weeping Virgins and my young men slain; My wealthy trading fall'n, my dearth of grain, The seed times come, but ploughman hath no hope Because he knows not who shall inn his Crop! The poor they want their pay, their Children bread, Their woful Mothers' tears unpittied. If any pity in thy heart remain, Or any child-like love thou dost retain, For my relief, do what there lyes in thee, And recompence that good I've done to thee.

Dear Mother, cease complaints and wipe your eyes, Shake off your dust, chear up and now arise, You are my Mother Nurse, and I your flesh, Your sunken bowels gladly would refresh, Your griefs I pity, but soon hope to see, Out of your troubles much good fruit to be; To see those latter days of hop'd for good, Though now beclouded all with tears and blood; After dark Popery the day did clear, But now the Sun in 's brightness shall appear; Blest be the Nobles of thy Noble Land, With ventur'd lives for Truth's defence that stand; Blest be thy Commons, who for common good, And thy infringed Laws have boldly stood; Blest be thy Counties, who did aid thee still, With hearts and States to testifie their will; Blest be thy Preachers, who did chear thee on, O cry the Sword of God and Gideon;