The Poems of Thomas Pestell Edited with an account of his life and work by Hannah Buchan |
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To the honourd memorie of his deare mother. Mrs. Kath: Carr. |
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 | The Poems of Thomas Pestell |  |
46
To the honourd memorie of his deare mother. Mrs. Kath: Carr.
A Virgin faire & pure fowre Lustre's oldA gratious Wife till twyce so many told,
Fiue more she Past in Turtle widowes state
And sawe hir ofspring runne above the rate
Of all those year's. You sweet & happie race
Blest wth the Beauties of hir soule & face,
In prints so Liuely, Louely, bright & cleare,
(As scarce in all the Land the Like appeare.
Come helpe me reare theise trophees of my verse
Vpon your famous granddames, Bel-dam's herse.
Bynd all your browes in Bayes: no teare lett fall!
This is hir tryumph, & not funerall.
Who prowd fowle children in their Image gett
Borne, & conceiu'd in old Originall debt,
Who bloudie rackt Lands, wth poore orphan's curse
Leaue dull vile heyres that meane to make them worse;
Howlings are iust for theise. But you shall wrong
Hir Spottlesse Soule; vnlesse you Lift a Song,
From all your ioyned brests, that may rebound,
Against the starrs till heavên & earth resound.
Whilst hir Imperiall eagle soule out-flies
To take that crowne, beyond those Alpes of skies;
Two crouns of Age & Virtue here she wore,
The Last is Glorie, Lasting Euermore;
Wch Gods owne Holynes putts on: at Sight
Whereof, That Conclaue Sings in high delight.
| The Poems of Thomas Pestell | |