[...] OR AN IMAGE ROYAL, &c.
March 25.
Printed in the Year. 1660.
To his Honored and most Faithful Friend HENRY OXINDEN Esq Upon his most Incomparable EPITHALAMIUM.
UNcelebrated NUPTIALS by thee
Made coy Diana vow Virginity.
Thy lines (I fear) such powerful charms will prove,
As to make all the Muses fall in love;
And strive who first shall quit Pemassus hill,
To Kiss, to Court, and to Espouse thy Quill.
Thy heart-enamouring strains, did they but see,
The Nunneries would all unpeopl'd be:
Despising Cloysters; Abbesses would throng
About thee, for to beg a Marriage Song.
Your Wedding Garments well become the Bride,
And SUITE her for a BAZILEAN side.
Who grieve to see the Tapors loose their light,
Because jour Muse must then bid them good night.
Beauty will most ingeniously confess,
You only Cloath her in her pleasing Dress,
On my highly honored Friend, the Author of the EPITHALAMIUM.
IN this dear Pair, we see two married Hearts,
And in your Book the Marriage of the Arts:
Your Lines are all Heroick, so are they;
Those wear the Rosemary, and you the Bay:
Prose first conjoyn'd them both, till their last breath,
But in your Verse, they'r wedded after death.
Th. Williams.
To his much respected Friend, HENRY OXINDEN, in behalf of his [...]; As also To the READER concerning the same.
HEnry, methinks thou do'st most sweetly sing,
O how thy Muse makes Musick for a King!
Even the very best of Kings, the Spheres
May not sound sweeter in his Sacred Ears,
Then thy exalted Monarchy above
All Governments below the Throne of Jove.
And ye sweet Basil, and fair Dorothy,
Extolled higher then sublimity!
How can you chuse, but much delight to hear
Your worth's so sweetly tuned to your ear,
By him whom Malice at its heighth can't say,
Hath used been unto the least foul play,
But hates what's false, and loveth what is true,
And Reader, if you him, I know loves you.
Another by the same, to the same.
HEnry, I do confess I love thee well,
Yet in a friendly manner Ile thee tell,
That though in reading of thy lines no small
Pleasure I take, and love to view them all
Over and ever, that nor Monarchie,
Nor Basil, nor his matchless Dorothie
Thou hast set out to their worths [...] no,
Yet Ile excuse thee, who can do it so?
And, Reader, make thou much of what thou hast
In these his lines, he says they are his last;
They are hit last, and now gives way to thee
T'excel that which cannot be done by me.
One more to the same, by the same. [...]
ô heavenly sight!
More joyous then the Fountain of the Light!
It is so well by Henry here display'd,
As sure he had all the Nine Muses ayd;
Yea, a far greater: now he is set down
To rest, I wish him at the last Heav'ns Crown.
Now, Reader, with me joyn and let us raise
His same on earth, and crown his head with Bays,
That he a Poet Laureate may be,
And consecrated to Eternitie.
To the Reader,
REader, here is exposed thine eye
How (by Heaven authoriz'd) Monarchie
Excels not only rude Democratie,
But also choicest Aristocratie:
Here also thou maist see, if thou canst see,
A gift Divine, ev'n Basil Dorothie.
If thou beest wise, what ere thou thinkst of me,
Do not at least despise Divinity.
But if thou thinkst the gift is far more high
Then I have set it out, true, so do I,
And therefore pray thee my defects supply
By thy perfections, or me not decry:
For my part I ingeniously confess
Here's worth, as to its hight I can't express.
TO MOMUS.
MOmus I charge thee venome spit thou none
'Gainst Basil Dorothy conjoyn'd in one:
Kings are the gift of God, nay, Kings are Gods,
Thou hast a pestilent Tongue, but they have Rods.
LIB. I.
IT's said the Heir of Broom that noble Squire,
Whose gallant heart being touched with Loves fire,
Hath joyned hands with one whose vertues are
Such as his own, and both beyond compare.
Chast Erato thou noble Muse, thou which
Do'st all thy lovers with thy help enrich,
Help me thy servant, that I may display
Sights able to turn night into the day,
Rare Beauties! such as soon as Phebus, he
Is under Earth, makes hast again to see;
And who needs wonder that he doth so, sith
Their radiant eyes add lustre to his light.
Reader, no figures here expect, what's true
Is onely now exposed to thy view:
Hyperboles there is no need of here,
Where eyes more beautiful then Sol appear,
Eyes purely sining in Heavenly faces,
And orbed with the Mirror of all Graces.
O, who is he that's mortal can express
Such Beauties as the Angels may confess,
A task sufficient for their skill divine,
Highly transcendent unto all that's mine;
Could I now mount above Heav'ns highest sphere,
And pluck a Quill from Cherubims are there,
And be enspired with their knowledge, then
I might their worth describe with such a Pen:
But sith to me a mortal it's deny'd
By Angels in this case to be supply'd
With help adequate unto my desires,
Little I'll say, how ere I do require
Thy patience Reader, and forgiveness too
In all that herein I shall say or do:
And you whose Beauties, and whose royal worth
I now am ayming partly to set forth,
I must your pardons crave for coming short
Of what I should, if that I could report,
I mean your Excellencies, which surmount
The numerous Sands or Stars in my account,
Those Excellencies which do in you shine,
Unmixt with Earth, and purely all divine.
And sith man first was made, I will begin
To speak of thee sweet Basil, near of kin
To him that made thee, being (witness Paul)
The ver Off-spring of him that governs all.
Thy name imports a King, thy Princely face
Speaks thee to be a lover of his race:
Let Dunghill fancies court the multitude,
Of faith, and spirits barbarous, base and rude,
And like the Heathen many Gods adore,
Thou worship'st one, in truth there is no more;
No more then one God, and one King there is
Can crown the Nations with a Royal bliss.
Hence 'tis Queen Nature (constantly)
Graves in brave hearts the rule of Royalty.
No matter 'tis which way the vulgar go,
Alas, poor Souls, they know not what they do!
What Chaff's more light, what Sea to swell more apt
Then they? who when the weathers calm are rape
Ev'n up t'Heav'n in fancy, and in hope,
When foul, a sunder cut the Cable Rope:
Before the Ship's in danger, (Lord defend
All thine from those who thus to ruine tend.)
What Tygre is more fierce ? what savage Bear
More cruel then those head-strong Block-heads are?
Yet the quick sliding Sand is setled more
Then they: O how soon turned o'r and o're!
Euripus thou so often (we do know)
As they do change, doest not ebb and flow!
Thou Proteus, and thou Luna us'd to vary,
Art far more constant then this Drummedary,
This huge, this strange, this inform, monstrous beast
With many thousand heads of late encreas'd,
And cherish'd by a damn'd, and stinking Rump
Scorn'd and abhor'd, and worn unto the stump;
The sink of filth, in which the chotcest thing,
Smells not so well as Close-stools of a King.
But thou, O Basil, thy high worth disdains
The scurrilous humor of such frantick brains,
And hat'st those vermine that would undermine
Root, Body, Branches of the Sacred Vine,
And Hocus Pocus long breath'd Sycophants,
Who in such cunning manner set the Plants
Of Treason and Sedition, that they grow
Fast'ning their Roots as deep as Hell below,
And their huge Leaves o'r-spread the poys'ned Soyl
Of this most famous and once Sovereign Isle.
(Who cloak their crimes in Hoods of holiness,
And take Gods name to cover wickedness,
Are double Villains, and the Hypocrite
Is most-most odious in Gods glorious sight.
Go on brave Basil stand to the profession
Of true Religion (with a due descretion
To make of loyal Spirits a good choice,
And know true Shepherds from the Hyena's voice;
And follow the same wisdom which thou hast
With Principles for several years embrac'd,
Which tell thee that the Scepter sway'd by any
Plurality, hath symptoms like to many,
And neither of them can be lasting, why?
For want of union in their birth they dy.
Ʋnion is of Government the life,
And will preserve it in despight of strife.
What is Democracy but a toss'd ship,
Void both of Pole, and Pilot in the deep,
A Senate fram'd of many a head-strong Clown,
Where number weighs the most judicious down;
Where they whose eyes are in their head propose,
And they who are most blinde of all dispose,
A stinking Olio, poysoning the air,
Infecting most that unto it repair,
A gally maufry of brains so possest
As still the vilest is accounted best,
Where who's most bold, busie, and void of wit,
And speaks least sence, is thought the nail to hit.
It is a Fair exposing things to sale,
And pest'red with strange beast sway'd by the tayl,
It is a Forge upon whose Anvils wrought
Ugly confusion, and the fire is brought
From Hell which heateth the affection
Of those who in it cause distraction;
The sparkles of this fire about do flye,
Visible, and known to every eye.
And how I pray can plots, though deep they be,
Be safe, if all in common must them see?
Sith known designs do seldom take effect,
Are desperate, and dangerous to act:
And hence it is that wise men still exclude
The turbulent, base, moody multitude
From holding the choice Rains of Government,
Which in such hands cannot be permanent,
Nor with less danger can an Empery
Be swayed by an Aristocracy,
It being a Field wherein the Devil doth sow
Strife, Leagues and Factions, and they in it grow:
It being a Stage where those of highest blood
Act their own ends, yet pretend common good:
Where usually, like Bulls untamed, they
Each hale, and strangely pull a different way,
Every one hurried with passions high,
To what their lusts transport their minds awry;
At length the strongest down the weakest bears,
To himself usurps the Crown, and so it wears:
Thus Aristocracy doth ever tend
To Monarchy at last, and in it end.
Monarchy in Heaven hath ever been
In high'st esteem, from whence it did begin.
The Almighty Monarch he alone did frame
The World, and all below and 'bove the same:
The World needs but one God, Heav'n but one Sun,
And our Great Brittain KING but only One:
Such as is He, whose Wisdom and Fore-sight
Makes Him the Almighties Picture, even right.
'Tis Monarchy which is a Station sure,
Built skilfully, and ever will endure;
Although we see it sometimes out of place,
Again as 'twas it comes to be at last:
For Rebel subjects of themselves will quail,
And Lawful KINGS at first or last prevail.
Monarchy is a quiet House, where's one
Obey'd, and serv'd sans contradiction,
A Garden where Seditions takes no tooting,
And all confounding Anarchy no footing:
A well rig'd Ship, where dangers true appearing,
All do give way unto their Masters steering.
A Monarch's Edicts are like Laws Divine
To be imprinted in a Loyal mind
With Reverence; and they ought act them too,
Sith GOD himself commands them so to do;
His will is Subjects jointly should proceed,
To execute their SOVERAIGN's will with speed,
And not against their GOD, KING reasoning stand
Whil'st in the interim victory scapes his hand:
His will is Governments on Earth should be
Like His in Heaven, a perfect Monarchie.
And therefore cursed those arch Traitors be
Who do rebel against the Deity:
Atheists in Grain, faining Superstition
To cloak their cruelty and daimn'd ambition,
God and Mans Enemies, incarnate Devils,
Fell-murdering Vipers, Chaos of all evils,
Unnatural Neroes, Erostrates cruel,
Which of KING, Peers & people would make fuel,
Confound all Order and Religion quash,
Of honesty and falshood make a hash.
But Basil be thou bless'd, and go on still,
Thy self conforming to thy Soveraigns will,
Fear God, thy King Charles honor, give no eare
To fawning hypocrites, their wayes forbear.
Meddle not with them, for to change they bend
Their restless mindes, and will in ruine end,
And that ere long, yea, possibly before,
Sol shall his beaten track oft gallop o'r,
Yea, suddenly destruction shall come
Upon them, heark, methinks I hear the Drum
Beating a Call unto their welcome change,
And O, how many thousands see I range,
In battle order 'gainst those Rumpers which
Have pin'd the Body to uphold the Britch.
Methinks I see, or else my sight's deceived,
And I of understanding am bereaved;
I say, methinks I see the Stars ev'n all
Joyntly prepare themselves against the fall
Of that same many headed Monstrous thing,
That hath so long withstood their God and King.
Methinks I Praise God Bare-bone see lament
That ere unto the headless Parliament,
A Phanatick Petition he prefer'd
'Gainst King and Peers, or ere against them stir'd.
And you John Lambert, Disbrowe, and others,
That in iniquity were all sworn Brothers,
Are you not now with your own coyn paid off,
And to your Foes, and Quondam-friends a scoff?
And thou, O Oliver, who soard'st so high,
What hast behinde thee left save infamy,
And a foul stench, which by relations
Was smelled over all the Tripple Nations?
Which O together with thy Hypocrisie,
Will ere be mention'd with Indignity:
And whatsoever thou didst once suppose,
More infamous will make thee then thy Nose.
But of this subject now no more I'll sing
Or say, then only this, God save the KING.
LIB. II.
BAsil, I now again draw near to thee,
To whom I have a perfect sympathie,
And love on thee to look, for in thy face
True Loyaltie I see conjoyn'd with Grace:
And as Thou Loyally most gratious art,
So other graces in thee act their part,
Every one so, as if they strived which
(To their own glory) should thee most enrich,
What by retail to Saints themselves is given,
On thee in gross is poured down from Heav'n.
And Nature which to Millions hath seem'd
A curs'd step-mother, as she's daily deem'd,
By making them so ugly to the view
O how most beautiful hath she made you!
Witness thy Rosial Cheeks, thy speaking Eyes,
Which did so fair and wise a soul surprize,
Even thine, O Peerless Madam Dorothy!
The very Mansion of Divinity.
Speak, Madam, could you any armor find
Might be of proof, such as could fence your mind:
Or could you any stratagem devise
Against th' Artillary of his sparkling eyes?
Ah vain it is for flesh and blood t'oppose
The powerful beams which come from such as those
But how unfit am I to blazon forth
So great, so rare, so incomparable worth,
As is in Thee the glorious heir of Broom,
Whose parallel was never seen in Rome.
Some trumpet out aloud the fame of Fabius,
Of Mutius, Curius and Camillus,
And of the Scipioes and the Caesars, who
Come short of thee, for thou dost them out-go
As far in Virtue as the truth precedes
Falshood, or real actions feigned deeds;
They were extoll'd beyond their merits due,
What feigned was in them, in you is true;
And how, sweet Basil, couldst thou well be other,
Descending from so fair and wise a Mother?
True Vertues are the Objects of thy will,
Vain fame of theirs, with it the world to fill.
And whereas the same Vertues, which in shew,
These had, who most had, had of them but few;
Thou Basil in a number art known well,
Not to be equalized to excel:
So that I sooner could tell every tree
Which on the earth at this time growing be,
And sooner reckon all the waves to one
Wherewith fierce Neptune (since Jove sate in's Throne)
Have beat upon the Brittish coast, or know
How many plants in the whole world do grow,
Then I an even number can invent,
Which to thy Vertues are equivalent.
Doubtless it doth within the compass come,
Of mine own brain, to reckon up the sum
Of all the Millions of Miles, which each
Point sign'd in Heav'n in the Aequators reach,
With full carear turns round within an hour
Its space, as likewise in full twenty four:
And I confess, I could with mickle ease
Make demonstration, if that I please,
Of such a number just of inches, nay,
Of Barley corns, which certainly reach may
(Set one by one) in length unto the Moon,
Or to the body of the Star of Noon;
Nay, of a greater number of Sands small,
Which the concavity would fill up all,
From the Earth's centre to the very sphere
Of the fix'd Stars, which thence such distance bear.
But Basil I dare never undertake
Of all thy vertues, a just sum to make.
And such they also be, that whosoe'r
In time to come shall hear of them, and ne'r
Render due honor to them; let them be
Proclaimed odious to posterity,
Because they will refuse to pay it you,
To whom the utmost height of it is due:
Yea, let all their actions, even their best,
Be accounted such as Heav'n doth detest;
And let their leprous names dishonor'd dy,
Or if survive, survive with Infamy.
Come, Reader, now sit down a while by me,
And by thy leave I will set out to thee
A Lady fair, pure, perfect and divine,
Which did this noble Lovers heart enshrine.
Wonder not at it, sith that such she is
As in Her self's a Magazine of Bliss;
Beautie and Bliss in her together joyn,
And do thy Happiness, O Basil sign!
This is sweet Dorothy, who is design'd
By Natures self the glory of her kind;
On whom when brighter then the Sun I gaze
My senses all do tread a Lovers maze.
Some say such was Hero, Hero the fair,
That her Apollo courted for her hair,
And off red for a dower his burning Throne,
For her to sit for men to gaze upon:
But I say, What would have Apollo given
For Dorothy, if not his share in Heav'n?
Some say for Hero lovely Cupid pin'd,
And looking in her face was strucken blind;
Who holds his face t'ward thine, fair Dorothy,
Though he were blind before, he then may see,
(More probably) for thy bright heav'nly Eyes
May make the Dumb to speak, the Dead to rise,
Convert-old Sadduces, and teach them faith
Here to believe what our own Scripture saith.
Some say so faire was Hero, Venus Nun,
As Nature wept thinking she was undone,
Because she took more from her then she left,
And of such wondrous Beauty her bereft.
Believe it they that will, for Henry, I
Say an Hyperbole it is, or lye:
But I am sure so fair is Dorothie,
And so eminent in superiority,
That I (methinks) see Nature stand at gaze,
Proud that she should so rare a Fabrick raise,
Yet doubtful to acknowledg it, least she
Might seem t'encroach upon Divinity.
And Nature may triumph, having brought forth
A Creature of such Beautie and such worth,
As Natures God delighteth in to see,
And Angels muse to hear the Melodie
Of her sweet voice, O rare and Heavenly voice!
The Essence of their tunes when they rejoyce.
O who is he can worthily declare
Each part of Her, and not come short by far?
Sith what we know so lovely are in sight,
As no soul can express them to the height:
Her fore-head, O how fair, how heavenly
It looks's! the white Swan, Snow or Ivory
Come as far short as fairest Flowers exceed
In lovely Beauty the most ugly Weed:
Her Eye-brows th' Arches which support the same,
May well be thought t'uphold a heavenly frame,
And those pure Eyes which underneath do shine,
All who them see, must needs say are divine:
And if they were exposed to each eye,
Who is't that would not learn Astronomie?
And marke their motions more then those who light,
Though higher set, less pleasant are to sight,
Having such virtue in them as to turn
Stones into men, and make meer rocks to burn;
And why not so? if that their radiant light
Will perfectly out-shine Sol at his hight,
And add such lustre to the darksome Moon,
As may make mid-night ev'n as light as Noon.
Her cheeks spread with a coulor of such hew,
So lovely as Aurora never knew,
In which those jars are all composed seen,
Which 'twixt the white Rose and the red have been.
And why not so? sith that 'tis known in heart
And body too, she's Royaliz'd in part;
And sure in some sort 'tis a heav'nly thing
To have relation to a glorious King.
Sith Kings are Gods, who dare to it say no,
When God hath sign'd their warrants to be so.
But O the Vertue in her lips that is
Able to ravish if dispos'd to Kiss!
Divinely ravish, to an extasie
With joyes and pleasures, O how heav'nly!
And why not so? sith Rubies they surpass,
And they abound with most refined Grace,
From whence true Nectar is so poured forth,
As Jove himself nere tasted of such worth.
And oh the choice Pearls which her Lips do hide!
(Choice things are rare, they seldom are espy'd,)
And oh the fluent Tongue those Pearls contain!
Never yet known let loose to speech in vain,
And oh how pow'rful 'tis when it hath force
To quicken stones, and stop the Oceans course!
And why not so? if that the Powers divine,
Unto it hearken, and her will incline.
And oh her breath more sweet then any Rose!
'Tis a holy flame sanctifies where it goes.
Her Nose, her Chin, and her well-hearing Ears,
Such whiteness as her lovely forehead wears.
Her Hands so pure, so innocent, nay such
They are, that Angels may bow down to touch!
And why not so? if Heav'n it self doth stoop
To them, and joy to see them lifted up.
But what is he that is not more then man,
Can her sublime perfections truly scan?
Much less set forth, sith certainly there's none
Who breaths the air, can fully set out one:
Who may then venture all of them to speak?
Unless he hazard all his brains to break.
I must confess the task's to high for me,
Be it the subject of Divinity.
O happy Basil, who may'st sweetly know,
Not onely what's above, but what's below!
And sure, the hidden equalize the known,
Thou may'st enjoy her all, she is thine own;
She is thine own, yea, perfectly she's thine,
And ne'r to alteration will incline,
But certainly whilst that ye both live, still
Will be the subject of her Basils will:
She is thine own, and with her is the sum
Of all the pleasures of Elyzium,
Enjoy them in a rapture, whilst thou make
Lucina smile, and Madam Tellus shake.
Now all ye Gods go tune the Spheres, and send
Down Ganymede from Heav'n t'attend
This happy couple, duly waiting on
The joyful triumphs of their Union;
And thou Euterpe get thee gone to Hell,
And fetch him thence, who once by Muses spell,
Reduc'd a Soul, maugre the power of those
Fell destinies which durst him to oppose:
Touch thou his Harp with the rare Phenix Quill,
And bid him shew the utmost of his skill,
Making such musick, that Beast, Trees, and Stone,
May dance at their joys celebration:
And thou great Queen of Jove, who do'st assist
Nuptials, by making happy those thou list.
So showre thy blessings on these, that they may
Be but as one continued Nuptial day:
May the stout Bridegroom oft like Hercules,
Enter the Orchard of the Hesperides.
But here I rest, whilst others sport, for my
Head's giddy, and my Pen may go awry.
LIB. III.
NEw-Light gives new directions, now my Verse
With Basils bliss, my wishes shall rehearse:
Proceed then Reader, for my Lines shall run
Far higher now then they as yet have done,
But do not thou with unbelief them stain,
Sith they more truth then Sybils leaves contain.
O blessed Basil, thou enjoyest one
Wh'exceeds the height of admiration!
Who had she liv'd when first the World began,
Some God 'tis thought would not have suff'red man
To have enjoyed to himself alone,
But forcibly have took her for his own;
Hasting with speed, down from th' Imperial sky,
To have possest so rare a Diety.
Sure had she liv'd before the Wars of Troy,
Hellen whose Beauty caus'd so great annoy
Unto that Cities everlasting doom
(For hence against it, Greece in arms did come.)
I say, if Dorothy had lived then,
We ne'r had heard of highly fam'd Hellen;
For then the great Bard had left out her praise,
And Dorothy had been in all his lays,
The name of Dorothy had in each line
Been written, so they all had keen divine.
And now Hellen I canno [...] well rehearse,
Nor wil't like Dorothy run in my verse:
Fair Dorothy, the gift of the most High,
To Princely Basil him t'accompany,
A gift divine, such as I must confess,
Without a Dorothy none can express:
For who, O Lord, without a gift from Thee,
Can well express thine own of Dorothy?
Informing whom thy hand so famous deem'd
Almost it self to have excelled seem'd:
And therefore now no other help but thine,
I shall request thy great gift to define,
And scorn assistance from the Muses Hill,
Where thou, O God, shalt please to guid my quill,
And from it Dorothean Nectar make
To flow; which do, O do, for thine own sake,
That Dorothy I here may so make known,
As she's thine Image, even thy very own.
The best of Women that the World ere knew,
Was but a Type of Dorothy to ensue,
Which now in Dorothy, her Basils dear,
He findes fulfil'd, and others judge that see her
Divinities, the object of her will,
She loves what's good, and hateth what is ill;
Her thoughts are noble, and her words divine,
Her Graces more delicious then Wine,
Every one of them being apter far
To ravish then entice, so rare they are!
Angelicals her gesture, and her gate
Most lovely sweet, humbly conjoyn'd with state.
Pure Vertue is her Hand-maid, and her dress
The richest Jewels of all godliness.
Rich Jewels! which are of so high a prize,
As that their worth all India defies,
And such, as if in ballances 'twere laid
With the whole Earth, by it 'twould be out weigh'd.
Faith, Hope, and Charity, adorn her brest,
So as by them may judged be the rest.
Heaven be thou the Paper, whereupon
They fairly may described be each one;
Ye Angels set them down, immortal Fame
Do thou lend Ink to Register the same.
Great God! this great gift at the instant when
Thou gavest, like thy self thou gavest then;
None but a God, could such a gift have given,
And from whence could it come, if not from Heaven?
Who can of Dorothy make any sence,
Unless he do derive her name from thence:
And since she is descended from above,
She's surely worthy of a Prince's love.
Is she not Basil? thou whose name doth spell
No small one, if it be observed well.
Basil and Dorothy both names so high,
As in them all may read Divinity.
What is a King and gift from God conjoyn'd,
But Basilean Dorothy intwin'd?
Basil and Dorothy make up the sum
Of the High and Mighty looked for to come;
The great conjunction of a King and Queen,
Are very plainly in them to be seen.
O who is he, whom the great God of Heaven,
Hath not of wit and sences quite bereaven,
Can possibly so stupisied be,
As not in these transcendency to see!
Transcendency of such an altitude
As doth in it contain Beatitude.
O blessed Couple, whose conjunction may
Increase the world, with more such as are they,
And multiply their Sacred Names so much,
As that the Nations may be fill'd with such,
Such Basils, and such Dorothies, as they're
In deed, as well as Name, Divine, and Fair.
O ye propitious Planets kindly be
Assistants at their bless'd Nativity,
Sol, Jove, and Mercury, your selves then place,
So as ye may make fortunate their race,
Yea, all the Stars of Heav'n joyntly shine,
So as their Seed may wholly be divine,
And all ye Powers above at once conspire,
To th'utmost to fulfil what they desire.
O let their Names beyond the Indies flie,
Highly renown'd unto Eternity!
And, O let all true happiness extend
To them, and on them evermore attend!
Let all things lawful be at their command,
And let their day exceed the Oceans sand;
And when their Souls their Bodies shall forsake,
Unto thy self, them O Almighty take!
And at the great and general day of Doom,
When thy dear Son shall unto Judgment come.
Do thou, O do their Souls and Bodies crown,
With Everlasting Honor and Renown;
So that they e'r may in thy Kingdom sing,
Glory and Praise to thee their Lord and King.
Reader farewel, farewel all Poetry,
Farewel sweet Basil, and fair Dorothy,
And O thrice welcome dear Eternity.
FINIS.