The speaker begins by thanking heaven that, although she was made “the weaker kinde,” her soul is rescued from trifles that move others. She doesn’t scorn pleasures, praise, and plenty, but receives them with free thankfulness as long as they don’t waste reason or religion. If fortune withdraws these gifts, she can rely on herself and “slight those aids, unequal chance does give.” Throughout, the tone is serene and unwavering. The final image of spreading wings in sunlight or blessing the shade in retirement captures her ability to thrive in any condition. The plain yet graceful language mirrors her calm acceptance. It’s a gentle poem about inward strength and self-sufficiency; the mood is peaceful and firmly self-assured, as if the speaker has found a lasting refuge within her own soul.
On Myselfe — Summary
Good Heav'n, I thank thee, since it was design'd I shou'd be fram'd, but of the weaker kinde, That yet, my Soul, is rescu'd from the Love Of all those Trifles, which their Passions move. Pleasures, and Praise, and Plenty haue with me But their just value. If allow'd they be, Freely, and thankfully as much I tast, As will not reason, or Religion wast. If they're deny'd, I on my selfe can Liue, And slight those aids, unequal chance does give. When in the Sun, my wings can be display'd, And in retirement, I can bless the shade.