Chapter 1
The Prologue by Anne Bradstreet, read for LibriVox.org by Daryl Frierson. To think of wars, of captains and of kings, of cities founded, commonwealths begun. For my mean pen are two superior things, or how they all or each their dates have run. That poets and historians set these forth, my obscure lines shall not so dim their worth. But when my wandering eyes and envious heart, great bardish sugar lines, do but read over.
For I do grudge the muses did not part, took him and me that overfluent store. A bardist can do what a bardist will, but simple I according to my skill. From schoolboys tongues no rhetoric we expect, nor yet a sweet consort from broken strings, nor perfect beauty where the main defect. My foolish broken blemish muse so sings, and this to man alas no art is able,
cause nature made it so irreparable. Nor can I like the fluent sweet tongue Greek, who list at first and future speaks plain. But art he gladly found what he did seek, a full recrital of his striving pain. Art can do much but this maximum's most sure, a weaker wounded brain admits no cure. I am obnoxious to each carping tongue, who says my hand a needle better fits,
a poet's pen I scorn I should thus wrong, for such despite they cast on female wits. If what I do prove well it won't advance, the say its doilants are else by chance. But sure the antique Greeks were far more mild, else of our sex why feign they those nine. And Posey made Kaleide be his own child, so amongst the rest they placed the arts to align, but this week not they will fool soon untie.
The Greeks did not, but play the fools and lie. Let Greeks be Greeks and women what they are, men have presidency and still excel. It is but vain unjustly to wage war, men can do best and women know it well. Permanence in all and each is yours, yet grant some small acknowledgement for ours. And oh ye high-foned quills that soar the sky, and ever with your praise still catch your praise.
If ever you're dying these lowly lines your eye, get thine by parsley wreath, I ask no bays. This mean and unrefined aura of mine, will make your glistening gold but more to shine. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. Thank you for watching.
