Classic Poem

In you, our Marshals Son, a Warriour borne,
Admired vertues seemernto be worn;
Making such lustre that your graces shine,
Ever declaring you a most divine,
Sage, prudent Peere, whose vertues in the way

Home draw you still, and so of you men say :
On heaven you fixed are, and that your home ,
With grace thus guided will at last become,
And then a Trumpet of your noble name
Rung out a loud will be by laying same,
Drawing still home till to your hav'n you came.