Account of Anne Bradstreet

Whilst the greatest effort has been made to ensure the quality of this text, due to the historical nature of this content, in some rare cases there may be minor issues with legibility. And oh ye high flown quills that soar the Skies, And ever with your prey still catch your praise, If e'er you daigne these lowly lines your eyes Give Thyme or Parsley wreath, I ask no bayes.