Article: Bradstreet's The Author to Her Book.(Anne Bradstreet)

 
Thou ill-formed offspring of my feeble brain, 
Who after birth did'st by my side remain, 
Till snatched from thence by friends, less wise than true, 
Who thee abroad, exposed to public view, 
Made thee in rags, halting to th' press to trudge, 
Where errors were not lessened (all may judge). 
At thy return my blushing was not small, 
My rambling brat (in print) should mother call, 
I cast thee by as one unfit for light, 
The visage was so irksome in my sight; 
Yet being mine own, at length affection would 
Thy blemishes amend, if so I could. 
I washed thy face, but more defects I saw, 
And rubbing off a spot still made a flaw.  ...

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