Thou ill-form'd offspring of my feeble brain,
Who after birth did'st by my side remain,
Till snatched from thence by friends, less wise than true
Who thee abroad expos'd to public view,
Made thee in rags, halting to th' press to trudge,
Where errors were not lessened (all may judge)
At thy return my blushing was not small,
My rambling brat (in print) should mother call.

'The Author to her Book' (1650)