On A Nun

On A Nun

Of two fair virgins, modest, though admired,
Heaven made us happy; and now, wretched sires,
Heaven for a nobler doom their worth desires,
And gazing upon either, both required.
Mine, while the torch of Hymen newly fired
Becomes extinguish'd, soon too
soon expires:
But thine, within the closing grate retired,
Eternal captive, to her God aspires.
But thou at least from out the jealous door,
Which shuts between your never meeting
eyes,
May'st hear her sweet and pious voice once more:
I to the marble, where my daughter lies,
Rush, the
swoln flood of bitterness I pour,
And knock, and knock, and knock but none replies.