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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=115395" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Prologue</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">To sing of wars, of captains, and of kings,<br>Of cities founded, commonwealths begun,<br>For my mean pen are too superior things:<br>Or how they all, or each, their dates have run;<br>Let poets and historians set these forth,<br>My obscure lines shall not so dim their worth.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But when my wondering eyes and envious heart<br>Great Bartas' sugared lines do but read o'er,<br>Fool I do grudge the Muses did not part<br>'Twixt him and me that overfluent store;--<br>A Bartas can do what a Bartas will,<br>But simple I according to my skill.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">From school-boys tongues no rhetoric we expect,<br>Nor yet a sweet consort from broken strings,<br>Nor perfect beauty where's a main defect:<br>My foolish, broken, blemished Muse so sings;<br>And this to mend, alas, no art is able,<br>'Cause nature made is so, irreparable.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Nor can I, like that fluent, sweet-tongued Greek<br>Who lisped at first, in future times speak plain;<br>By art he gladly found what he did seek--<br>A full requital of his striving pain.<br>Art can do much, but this maxim's most sure:<br>A weak or wounded brain admits no cure.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I am obnoxious to each carping tongue<br>Who says my hand a needle better fits.<br>A poet's pen all scorn I should thus wrong;<br>For such despite they cast on female wits,<br>If what I do prove well, it won't advance--<br>They'll say it was stolen, or else it was by chance.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But shure the ancient Greeks were far more mild,<br>Else of our sex why feignéd they those Nine,<br>And Posey made Calliope's own child?<br>So 'mongst the rest they placed the Arts Divine.<br>But this weak knot they will full soon untie--<br>The Greeks did naught but play the fools and lie.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Let Greeks be Greeks, and women what they are.<br>Men have precedency, and still excell.<br>It is but vain unjustly to wage war,<br>Men can do best, and women know it well.<br>Preëminence in all and each is yours--<br>Yet grant some small acknowledgement of ours.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And oh, ye high flownquills that soar the skies,<br>And ever with your prey still catch your praise,<br>If e'er you deign these lowly lines your eyes,<br>Give thyme or parsley wreath; I ask no bays.<br>This mean and unrefinéd ore of mine<br>Will make your glistening gold but more to shine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Anne+Bradstreet">Anne Bradstreet</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=115395" data-title="The Prologue de Anne Bradstreet" data-description="To sing of wars, of captains, and of kings,/Of cities founded, commonwealths begun,/For my mean pen are too superior things:/Or how they all, or each, their dates have run;/Let poets and historians set these forth,/My obscure lines shall not so di..."></div>
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