Free as Nature’s first intention Was to make us, I’ll be found, Nor by subtle Man’s invention Yeild to be in Fetters bound By one that walks a freer … - Anne Finch, Countess of Winchilsea

Cou’d our First Father, at his toilsome Plough,
Thorns in his Path, and Labour on his Brow,
Cloath’d only in a rude, unpolish’d Skin,
Cou’d he a vain Fantastick Nymph have seen,
In all her Airs, in all her antick Graces,
Her various Fashions, and more various Faces;
How had it pos’d that Skill, which late assign’d
Just Appellations to Each several Kind!
A right idea of the Sight to frame;
T’have guest from what New Element she came;
T’have hit the wav’ring Form, and giv’n this Thing a Name.

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.

How are we fal’n, fal’n by mistaken rules,
And Education’s more than Nature’s fools.