What She Saw

Ben Jonson saw the son of his right hand

Cut off, his daughter Mary under earth

At scarce six months, a kind of afterbirth.

No wonder, then, that like a burning brand,

Branded himself, he marked her soul for life

His pen indited. Lady Would-Bee, wife,

But left alone herself, let out at court

That she was barren (who would never bear).

My darling, were you scarred or only scared?

And could you say then that it left you free

Of more than cells? Imprisoned by your sex,

And then you thought to make an ex of me,

How did you ever come (as in the end

You did) to wish you had not let them do it?

How is it that you came so hard to rue it,

Again. No doubt you chose some other he

When I became the least important choice,

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