The tenth muse lately sprung up in America or severall poems, compiled with great variety of vvit and learning, full of delight. Wherein especially is contained a compleat discourse and description of the four elements, constitutions, ages of man, seasons of the year. Together with an exact epitomie of the four monarchies, viz. The Assyrian, Persian, Grecian, Roman. Also a dialogue between Old England and New, concerning the late troubles. With divers other pleasant and serious poems. By a gentlewoman in those parts.

THE PROLOGUE.

1.

TO sing of Wars, of Captaines, and of Kings, Of Cities founded, Common-wealths begun, For my mean Pen, are too superiour things, And how they all, or each, their dates have run: Let Poets, and Historians set these forth, My obscure Verse, shal not so dim their worth.

2.

But when my wondring eyes, and envious heart, Great Bartas sugar'd lines doe but read o're; Foole, I doe grudge, the Muses did not part 'Twixt him and me, that over-fluent store; A Bartas can, doe what a Bartas wil, But simple I, according to my skill.

3.

From School-boyes tongue, no Rhethorick we expect, Nor yet a sweet Consort, from broken strings, Nor perfect beauty, where's a maine defect, My foolish, broken, blemish'd Muse so sings; And this to mend, alas, no Art is able, 'Cause Nature made it so irreparable.

4.

Nor can I, like that fluent sweet tongu'd Greek Who lisp'd at first, speake afterwards more plaine By Art, he gladly found what he did seeke, A full requitall of his striving paine:

Art can doe much, but this maxime's most sure, A weake or wounded braine admits no cure.

5.

Iam obnoxious to each carping tongue, Who sayes, my hand a needle better fits, A Poets Pen, all scorne, I should thus wrong; For such despight they cast on female wits: If what I doe prove well, it wo'nt advance, They'l say its stolne, or else, it was by chance.

6.

But sure the antick Greeks were far more milde, Else of our Sex, why feigned they those nine, And poesy made, Calliope's owne childe, So 'mongst the rest, they plac'd the Arts divine: But this weake knot they will full soone untye, The Greeks did nought, but play the foole and lye.

7.

Let Greeks be Greeks, and Women what they are, Men have precedency, and still excell, It is but vaine, unjustly to wage war, Men can doe best, and Women know it well; Preheminence in each, and all is yours, Yet grant some small acknowledgement of ours.

8.

And oh, ye high flown quils, that soare the skies, And ever with your prey, still catch your praise, If e're you daigne these lowly lines, your eyes Give wholsome Parsley wreath, I aske no Bayes: This meane and unrefined stuffe of mine, Will make your glistering gold but more to shine.

A. B.