Anne Bradstreet(ea. 1612–1672)

The Prologue

To sing of wars, of captains, and of kings,

Of cities founded, common-wealths begun,

For my mean 0 pen, are too superior things,inferior

And how they all, or each, their dates have run

Let poets, and historians set these forth,

My obscure verse shall not so dim their worth.

But when my wond'ring eyes, and envious heart,

Great Bartas'8 sugared lines do but read o'er,

Fool, I do grudge the Muses y did not part 0divide

Twixt him and me that over-fluent store;

A Bartas can do what a Bartas will,

But simple I, according to my skill.

From school-boys tongue, no rhetoric1 we expect,

Nor yet a sweet consort, 0 from broken strings, concert, harmony

Nor perfect beauty, where's a main defect;

My foolish, broken, blemished Muse so sings;

And this to mend, alas, no art is able,

'Cause nature made it so irreparable.

Nor can I, like that fluent sweet-tongued Greek

Who lisped at first,2 speak afterwards more plain.

By art, he gladly found what he did seek,

A full requital of his striving pain:

Art can do much, but this maxim's most sure.

A weak or wounded brain admits no cure.

I am obnoxious 0 to each carping tongue,vulnerable

Who says my hand a needle better fits;

A poet's pen all scorn I should thus wrong;

For such despite 0 they cast on female wits:scorn

If what I do prove well, it won't advance,be recognized

They'll say it's stolen, or else it was by chance.

But sure the antick3 Greeks were far more mild,

Else of our sex, why feigned 0 they those nine, 4invented

And poesy made Calliope's owne child5

So 'mongst the rest, they placed the arts divine:

But this weak knot6 they will full soon untie,

The Greeks did nought, but play the fool and lie.

Let Greeks be Greeks, and women what they are,

Men have precedency,7 and still excel;

It is but vain, unjustly to wage war;

Men can do best, and women know it well;

Preeminence in each and all is yours,

Yet grant some small acknowledgement of ours.

A n d oh, ye h i g h flown quills8 that soar the skies,

A n d ever w i t h your prey, still c a t c h your praise,

If e'er you deign 0 these lowly lines your eyes,think fit for

Give wholesome parsley wreath, I ask no bays: 9

T h i s m e a n and u n r e f i n e d stuff o f m i n e ,

Will m a k e your glistering gold but m o r e to shine.