Anne’s Poems

A few favorites…

        To my Dear and Loving Husband

             If ever two were one, then surely we.
             If ever man were lov’d by wife, then thee.
             If ever wife was happy in a man,
             Compare with me, ye women, if you can.
             I prize thy love more than whole Mines of gold
             Or all the riches that the East doth hold.
             My love is such that Rivers cannot quench,
             Nor ought but love from thee give recompence.
             Thy love is such I can no way repay.
             The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray.
             Then while we live, in love let’s so persever
             That when we live no more, we may live ever.


           To my Dear Children

             This book by any yet unread
             I leave for you when I am dead
             That being gone, here you may find
             What was your living mother’s mind.
             Make use of what I leave in love
             And God shall bless you from above


            The Author to her Book

            Thou ill-form’d offspring of my feeble brain,
            Who after birth did’st by my side remain,
            Till snatcht from thence by friends, less wise than true,
            Who thee abroad expos’d 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,
            Thy Visage was so irksome in my sight,
            Yet being mine own, at length affection would
            Thy blemishes amend, if so I could.
            I wash’d thy face, but more defects I saw,
            And rubbing off a spot, still made a flaw.
            I stretcht thy joints to make thee even feet,
            Yet still thou run’st more hobbling than is meet.
            In better dress to trim thee was my mind,
            But nought save home-spun Cloth, i’ th’ house I find.
            In this array, ‘mongst Vulgars mayst thou roam.
            In Critics’ hands, beware thou dost not come,
            And take thy way where yet thou art not known.
            If for thy Father askt, say, thou hadst none;
            And for thy Mother, she alas is poor,
            Which caus’d her thus to send thee out of door.


Verses upon the Burning of our House, July 18th, 1666

Here follows some verses upon the burning
of our house, July. 18th. 1666. Copyed out of
a loose Paper.


              In silent night when rest I took,
              For sorrow near I did not look,
              I waken’d was with thund’ring noise
              And piteous shrieks of dreadful voice.
              That fearful sound of “fire” and “fire,”
              Let no man know is my Desire.
              I starting up, the light did spy,
              And to my God my heart did cry
              To straighten me in my Distress
              And not to leave me succourless.
              Then coming out, behold a space
              The flame consume my dwelling place.
              And when I could no longer look,
              I blest his grace that gave and took,
              That laid my goods now in the dust.
              Yea, so it was, and so ’twas just.
              It was his own; it was not mine.
              Far be it that I should repine,
              He might of all justly bereft
              But yet sufficient for us left.
              When by the Ruins oft I past
              My sorrowing eyes aside did cast
              And here and there the places spy
              Where oft I sate and long did lie.
              Here stood that Trunk, and there that chest,
              There lay that store I counted best,
              My pleasant things in ashes lie
              And them behold no more shall I.
              Under the roof no guest shall sit,
              Nor at thy Table eat a bit.
              No pleasant talk shall ‘ere be told
              Nor things recounted done of old.
              No Candle ‘ere shall shine in Thee,
              Nor bridegroom’s voice ere heard shall bee.
              In silence ever shalt thou lie.
              Adieu, Adieu, All’s Vanity.
              Then straight I ‘gin my heart to chide:
              And did thy wealth on earth abide,
              Didst fix thy hope on mouldring dust,
              The arm of flesh didst make thy trust?
              Raise up thy thoughts above the sky
              That dunghill mists away may fly.
              Thou hast a house on high erect
              Fram’d by that mighty Architect,
              With glory richly furnished
              Stands permanent, though this be fled.
              It’s purchased and paid for too
              By him who hath enough to do.
              A price so vast as is unknown,
              Yet by his gift is made thine own.
              There’s wealth enough; I need no more.
              Farewell, my pelf; farewell, my store.
              The world no longer let me love;
              My hope and Treasure lies above.


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