A Congratulatory Encomium Upon the happy conjunction of the high deserts of M R. ROBERT BUCKLE, With the Unparallell'd Vertues of M RS. DEBORAH PRINCE.
The 26
th. day of May. 1671.
ENter not here vain thoughts or eyes, or hands;
Vertues & high-born Graces give commands
To silence all that rude & lawless noise,
Which purer mirth & chaster minds annoys.
The splendor of this day admits not here
The least offence: Be gon & disappear
Ye cloudy thoughts that fill the lower sphaer:
Sublimed minds & innocence most clear
With heav'nly grace are here advanc'd on high:
Pure vertue with a PRINCELY Majesty
Holds forth the scepter to each noble soul
That BUCKLE can, comply, & so controll
Their foolish passions: So these
Nuptialls shall
Exceed all others: and to ages all
A standing pattern be of Prudence, and
Of rare deportment in Batavian land.
Yet, Reader, dream not of a Stoicks feast;
Nor a Saturnin Aspect in the least.
There is a noble thing raigns here call'd
Love,
Of purest extract darting from above:
Bastard is all Religion, & wry-fac'd
Are vertues, if not with its beauty grac'd.
Love that
Prometheus-like the soul inspires;
And fils the lower region with it's fires:
Love that makes dull & breathless souls revive,
And 'bove the lower race of mortalls live:
Love that cures horrid evills, dreadfull jarrs,
O'recom's & sweetens all perplexing cares.
Love that's the Quintessence of this days glory:
Of which be pleasd to take this pleasing story;
Descended from fair Albions stock and race
The matchless DEBORAH with PRINCELY grace
Resembling much her name and worthy Sire
Is now become the object of desire
To every Son of art whose skill can find
A hidden treasure in a sacred mind.
But she whose judgement farr exceeds her years
To vainer youths enticements stops her ears:
She se'es through foggy mists of watry lands,
And vouchsafes not to yield her conquer'd hands
To any, till there comes from English soyl
A soul Heroick who will take no foil:
'Tis Mr. BUCKLE who her heart hath won,
And gott the Rhetorick to make two one
Her rare endowments, her composure sweet,
Her humble Lamb-like frame, behaviour meet,
Her winning carriage that would melt a stone,
Transporting and enamouring ev'ry one,
Prevail with his discreetest thoughts, that he
Engaged is both night and day to be
An earnest Suppliant; till at length She
Spies so much goodness, meekness, modesty,
Such Prudence, such Religious Sympathy,
Firm faith, true love, and reall constancy
Within his faithfull breast, as there rests now
Nought but a strife each other to outdo
In strains of
Love: come you my PRINCE bear sway,
Bear sway, quoth he, my dearest DEBORAH,
My heart yields up to you it's strongest forts:
Command, my hearts Commandress, thus he courts:
Well-spoken DEBORAH eftsoon retorts,
With
Eloquence, (for so her name imports)
My ROBERT whose grave Name is thus exprest,
Famous for counsel & advice to rest,
My highest strain of Wisdom's to obey
The dictates of your counsells ev'ry day:
My BUCKLE bind me but with your commands:
My greatest freedom lyes within those bands.
Thus names conspire in this sweet sympathy,
Yea ev'ry letter in this harmony:
R
ude though I be, yet have I got the art
O
f such a Rhet'rick as can pierce the heart,
B
reak through & ope that cabinet where lyes
E
dens fair fruit, the earthly Paradise:
R
est can I now in her embraces sweet
T
hat is become for me a help so meet.
B
orn in an happy hour preserved sound
U
nto this day wherein my joys abound;
C
rown'd with enjoyment of a Bride, in whom
K
indness & goodness rule & overcome,
L
odg'd in that purer mind & body, which
E
ver esteemed are a prize most rich.
D
o not, my dear, do not once doubt to find
E
ndeavours of a full complying mind:
B
ent to your love, I ventur'd, to please you,
O
ut of that Virgin-state, where I till now
R
efreshed was with my retired state,
A
nd there in silence deep did contemplate:
H
oping to find without distraction
In you more satisfaction.
P
ierc'd is my heart, but you do make it whole,
R
estore what comforts I have lost, my soul
I
s quieted in you; for there is none
N
one whom I fancy could but you alone:
C
hosen I have, & am contented well;
E
ndless contentments in our hearts shall dwell,
Beyond what any tongue can tell.
And now you lovely pair, no longer smother
Your faithfull loves: Be happy in each other.
And may all joys continually betide
The modest Bridegroom & the lovely Bride.
The Authors Apology.
The Proverb now is true as heretofore,
I find it so,
The Poët's always poor:
Poor is my verse, so is my Genius low;
Yet great's my love, Affections overflow.
At AMSTERDAM, Printed by STEVEN SWART, Bookseller. 1671.