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 then true Who thee abroad, expos'd to publick view, Made thee in raggs, halting to th' press to trudg, Where errors were not lessened (all may judg) 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 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. 1 Rev. ii. 17. If but a neck, soon should we be together: I like the earth this season, mourn in black, My Sun is gone so far in's Zodiack, 2 First published in edition of 1678. My chilled limbs now nummed lye forlorn; Return, return sweet Sol from Capricorn; In this dead time, alas, what can I more Then view those fruits which through thy heat I bore? Which sweet contentment yield me for a space, True living Pictures of their Fathers face. O strange effect! now thou art Southward gone, I weary grow, the tedious day so long; But when thou Northward to me shalt return, I wish my Sun may never set, but burn 20 Within the Cancer of my glowing breast, The welcome house of him my dearest guest. Where ever, ever stay, and go not thence, Till natures sad decree shall call thee hence; Flesh of thy flesh, bone of thy bone, So doth my anxious soul, which now doth miss, A dearer Dear (far dearer Heart) then this. Still wait with doubts, & hopes, and fail ing eye, His voice to hear, or person to discry. Or as the pensive Dove doth all alone (On withered bough) most uncouthly be |