�The Atithor to her Book.
��b-i(>]
�� I ^Hou ill-form'd offspring of my feeble brain,
-*- Who after birth did'ft by my lide remain, Till fnatcht from thence by friends, lefs wife then true Who thee abroad, expos'd to publick view. Made thee in raggs, halting to th' prefs to trudg, Where errors were not leffened (all may judg) At thy return my blufliing was not fmall, My rambling brat (in print) iliould mother call, I caft thee by as one unfit for light, Thy Vifage was fo irkfome in my fight; Yet being mine own, at length affe6tion would Thy blemiflies amend, if fo I could: I wafh'd thy face, but more defe6ls I faw, And rubbing oft' a fpot, ftill made a flaw. I ftretcht thy joynts to make thee even feet, Yet ftill thou run'ft more hoblin^ then is meet; In better drefs to trim thee was m}^ mind. But nought fave home-fpun Cloth, i'th' houfe I find In this array, 'mongft Vulgars mayft thou roam In Criticks hands, beware thou doft not come;
- See pages 82-90 and notes.
�� �
