How are we fal’n, fal’n by mistaken rules, And Education’s more than Nature’s fools. - Anne Finch, Countess of Winchilsea

Alas! a woman that attempts the pen,
Such an intruder on the rights of men,
Such a presumptuous Creature, is esteem’d,
The fault, can by no vertue be redeem’d.

They tell us we mistake our sex and way;
Good breeding, fassion, dancing, dressing, play
Are the accomplishments we shou’d desire;
To write, or read, or think, or to enquire
Wou’d cloud our beauty and exaust our time,
And interrupt the Conquests of our prime;
Whilst the dull mannage of a servile house
Is held by some our outmost art and use.

This to the crown and blessing of my life,
The much lov’d husband of a happy wife;
To him whose constant passion found the art
To win a stubborn and ungratefull heart,
And to the world by tend’rest proof discovers,
They err, who say that husbands can’t be lovers.