Page:Anne Bradstreet and her time.djvu/248

232 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 sugared lines, do but read o'er 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' tongues 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 needle better fits, A Poet's 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 stolen, 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, Calliope'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.