Chapter 2
The author to her book by Anne Brastrick Read for LibreBox.org by Rosada de Jesus Thou ill-formed offspring of my feeble brain Who after birth this by my side remain Till snatched from things by friends
Less wise than truth Who the abhorred exposed to public view May be in rocks holding to thy press to trash Where errors were not listened, oh my judge At thy return my blushing was not small
My rambling breath in print should mother call I cast thee by as one unfit for light Thy visage was so irksome in my sight Yet be my own at length affection Were without limaches amen
If so I call, I wash thy face But more the effects I saw Enrobing of a spot still made it floor I stretched thy join to make thee even fit Yet still thy rust more humbling than its meat
In better dress to trim thy was my mind But none save homespun cloth at the house I find In this array months vulgar mind thou's wrong In critics hence beware thou dost not come And take that way where yet thou art not known
If for thy father as say thou hast none And for thy mother she alas is poor Which cause her thus to send thee out of door And of form this record is in the public domain
