Margaret Cavendish(1623–1673)
An Apology for Writing So Much upon This Book
C o n d e m n me not, I m a k e so m u c h a d o
A b o u t this book; it is my child, you know.
J u s t like a bird, w h e n her y o u n g are in nest,
G o e s in, a n d out, a n d h o p s , a n d takes n o rest:
But when their young are fledg'd, their heads out-peep,
Lord! What a chirping does the old one keep!
So I, for fear my strengthless child s h o u l d fall
Against a door, or stool, a l o u d I call;
Bid have a care of s u c h a d a n g e r o u s place:
Thus write I much, to hinder all disgrace.