Page:The works of Anne Bradstreet in prose and verse.djvu/425

 Old England and Ne7u. 339

But thefe may be beginnings of more woe

Who knows, but this may be my overthrow/

Oh pit}^ me in this fad perturbation,

My plundred Towns, m}- houfes devaftation,

My weeping'' Virgins and my young men flain;

My wealthy trading fall'n, my dearth of grain.

The feed-times come, but ploughman hath no hope

Becaufe he knows not who fhall inn his Crop:

The poor they want their pa}', their children bread,

Their woful Mothers tears unpittied,

If any pity in thy heart remain.

Or an}^ child-like love thou doft retain.

For my relief, do what there lyes in thee.

And recompence that good I've done to thee/

New England.

Dear Mother ceafe complaints & wipe your eyes, Shake off your duft, chear up, and now arife. You are my Mother Nurfe, and I'^ 3^our flefh. Your funken bowels gladly would refrefh. Your griefs I pity, but foon hope to fee. Out of your troubles much good fruit to be;

d Who knows, the worft, the beft may overthrow ; Religion, Gofpell, here lies at the flake, Pray now dear child, for facred Zions fake,

^ ravilht. f For my relief now ufe thy utmoft skill,

And recompence me good, for all my ill. ? nurfe, I once.

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