52
Tixall Poetry.
A Sigh to St Monica's Teares.
Ye tender soft-par'd'mother springs,
That trickling steale from those new op'ning eyes,
Where Monica, loves siren, sings,
To inchant her Austin into Paradise;
Kind falacys, that have so well outdone
The logick of your over subtill son:
That trickling steale from those new op'ning eyes,
Where Monica, loves siren, sings,
To inchant her Austin into Paradise;
Kind falacys, that have so well outdone
The logick of your over subtill son:
If such fertill parent showres
Revivd in him the eternall spring of blisse;
If those seede pearle-bloomes of yours
Brought him such harvest home of happines;
Oh, drop my baren soule one fruitfull teare,
Or let it gleane some pregnant sorrow there.
Revivd in him the eternall spring of blisse;
If those seede pearle-bloomes of yours
Brought him such harvest home of happines;
Oh, drop my baren soule one fruitfull teare,
Or let it gleane some pregnant sorrow there.
