Page:The works of Anne Bradstreet in prose and verse.djvu/227

Rh But rather I with silence vaile her shame Then cause her blush, while I relate the same. Nor are ye free from this inormity, Although she bear the greatest obloquie, My prudence, judgement, I might now reveal But wisdom 'tis my wisdome to conceal. Unto diseases not inclin'd as you. Nor cold, nor hot. Ague nor Plurisie, Nor Cough, nor Quinsey, nor the burning Feaver, I rarely feel to act his fierce endeavour; My sickness in conceit chiefly doth lye, What I imagine that's my malady. Chymeraes strange are in my phantasy, And things that never were, nor shall I see I love not talk, Reason lies not in length. Nor multitude of words argues our strength; I've done pray sister Flegme proceed in Course, We shall expect much found, but little force.

ATIENT I am, patient i'd need to be, To bear with the injurious taunts of three, Though wit I want, and anger I have less, Enough of both, my wrongs now to express