〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 OR AN IMAGE ROYAL, etc.   laurel wreath 
laurel wreath March 25.  
Printed in the Year. 1660.   

To his Honoured 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 unpeopled be:   

Despising Cloisters; Abbesses would throng  
About thee, for to beg a Marriage Song.   

Your Wedding Garments well become the Bride,  
And SUIT her for a BAZILEAN side.   

Who grieve to see the Tapors lose their light,  
Because jour Muse must then bid them good night.   

Beauty will most ingeniously confess,  
You only Cloth her in her pleasing Dress,    

On my highly honoured 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 Heroic, so are they;  
Those wear the Rosemary, and you the Bay:  
Prose first conjoined them both, till their last breath,  
But in your Verse, they're 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 dost most sweetly sing,  
O how thy Muse makes Music 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 than sublimity!  
How can you choose, but much delight to hear  
Your worth's so sweetly tuned to your ear,  
By him whom Malice at its height 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 I'll 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 Monarchy,  
Nor Basil, nor his matchless Dorothy  
Thou hast set out to their worths 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 no,  
Yet I'll 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. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  
o heavenly sight!  
More joyous than the Fountain of the Light!  
It is so well by Henry here displayed,  
As sure he had all the Nine Muse's aid;  
Yea, a far greater: now he is set down  
To rest, I wish him at the last heavens Crown.  
Now, Reader, with me join and let us raise  
His same on earth, and crown his head with Bays,  
That he a Poet Laureate may be,  
And consecrated to Eternity.   

To the Reader,  By the Author. 
REader, here is exposed thine eye  
How (by Heaven authorised) Monarchy  
Excels not only rude Democraty,  
But also choicest aristocraty:  
Here also thou mayst see, if thou canst see,  
A gift Divine, even Basil Dorothy.  
If thou be'st wise, what ere thou thinkest of me,  
Do not at least despise Divinity.  
But if thou thinkest the gift is far more high  
Than 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 height I can't express.   

TO MOMUS.  
MOmus I charge thee venom spit thou none  
'Gainst Basil Dorothy conjoined 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 Love's fire,  
Hath joined hands with one whose virtues are  
Such as his own, and both beyond compare.  
 Erato thou noble Muse, thou which  
Dost 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 Phoebus, he  
Is under Earth, makes haste again to see;  
And who needs wonder that he doth so, sigh  
Their radiant eyes add lustre to his light.   

Reader, no figures here expect, what's true  
Is only now exposed to thy view:  
Hyperboles there is no need of here,  
Where eyes more beautiful than Sol appear,  
Eyes purely sinning 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;  
Can I now mount above heavens highest sphere,  
And pluck a Quill from Cherubims are there,  
And be inspired with their knowledge, than  
I might their worth describe with such a Pen:  
But sigh to me a mortal it's denied  
By Angels in this case to be supplied  
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 aiming 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,  
Unmixed with Earth, and purely all divine.   

And sigh 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 for Offspring 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 worshippest one, in truth there is no more;  
No more than 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  
Than they? who when the weathers calm are rape  
Even 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 ruin tend.)  
What Tiger is more fierce? what savage Bear  
More cruel than those headstrong Blockheads are?  
Yet the quick sliding Sand is settled more  
Than they: O how soon turned o'er and o'er!  
Euripus thou so often (we do know)  
As they do change, dost not ebb and flow!  
Thou Proteus, and thou Luna used to vary,  
Art far more constant than this Drummedary,  
This huge, this strange, this inform, monstrous beast  
With many thousand heads of late increased,  
And cherished by a damned, and stinking Rump  
Scorned and abhorred, 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 humour of such frantic brains,  
And hat'st those vermin that would undermine  
Root, Body, Branches of the Sacred Vine,  
And Hocus Pocus long breathed Sycophants,  
Who in such cunning manner set the Plants  
Of Treason and Sedition, that they grow  
fastening their Roots as deep as Hell below,  
And their huge Leaves o'rspread the poisoned Soil  
Of this most famous and once Sovereign Isle.  
(Who cloak their crimes in Hoods of holiness,  
And take God's 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 discretion  
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 embraced,  
Which tell thee that the Sceptre swayed by any  
Plurality, hath symptoms like to many,  
And neither of them can be lasting, why?  
For want of union in their birth they die.  
Union is of Government the life,  
And will preserve it in despite of strife.  
What is Democracy but a tossed ship,  
Void both of Pole, and Pilot in the deep,   

A Senate framed of many a headstrong Clown,  
Where number weighs the most judicious down;  
Where they whose eyes are in their head propose,  
And they who are most blind of all dispose,  
A stinking Olio, poisoning the air,  
Infecting most that unto it repair,  
A galley maufry of brains so possessed  
As still the vilest is accounted best,  
Where who's most bold, busy, and void of wit,  
And speaks least sense, is thought the nail to hit.  
It is a Fair exposing things to sale,  
And pest'red with strange beast swayed by the tail,  
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 fly,  
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 highest 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, Heaven but one Sun,  
And our Great Britain KING but only One:  
Such as is He, whose Wisdom and Foresight  
Makes Him the Almighty's 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  
Obeyed, and served 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 Sovereign's will with speed,  
And not against their GOD, KING reasoning stand  
Whilst in the interim victory escapes his hand:  
His will is Governments on Earth should be  
Like His in Heaven, a perfect Monarchy.   

And therefore cursed those arch Traitors be  
Who do rebel against the Deity:  
Atheists in Grain, feigning Superstition  
To cloak their cruelty and daimned ambition,  
God and Man's Enemies, incarnate Devils,  
Fell-murdering Vipers, Chaos of all evils,  
Unnatural Nero's, Erostrates cruel,  
Which of KING, Peers & people would make fuel,  
Confound all Order and Religion quash,  
Of honesty and falsehood make a hash.   

But Basil be thou blessed, and go on still,  
Thyself conforming to thy Sovereign's will,  
Fear God, thy King Charles honour, give no ear  
To fawning hypocrites, their ways forbear.  
Meddle not with them, for to change they bend  
Their restless minds, and will in ruin end,  
And that ere long, yea, possibly before,  
Sol shall his beaten tract oft gallop o'er,  
Yea, suddenly destruction shall come  
Upon them, hark, 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 pined the Body to uphold the Britch.  
Methinks I see, or else my sight's deceived,  
And I of understanding am bereft;  
I say, methinks I see the Stars even all  
Jointly 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 Fanatic Petition he preferred  
'Gainst King and Peers, or ere against them stirred.  
And you John Lambert, Disbrowe, and others,  
That in iniquity were all sworn Brothers,  
Are you not now with your own coin paid off,  
And to your Foes, and Quondam-friends a scoff?  
And thou, O Oliver, who soard'st so high,  
What hast behind thee left save infamy,  
And a foul stench, which by relations  
Was smelled over all the Triple Nations?  
Which O together with thy Hypocrisy,  
Will ere be mentioned 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 sympathy,  
And love on thee to look, for in thy face  
True Loyalty I see conjoined with Grace:  
And as Thou Loyally most gracious art,  
So other graces in thee act their part,  
Every one so, as if they strove 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 Heaven.  
And Nature which to Millions hath seemed  
A cursed stepmother, as she's daily deemed,  
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 surprise,  
Even thine, O Peerless Madam Dorothy!  
The very Mansion of Divinity.  
Speak, Madam, could you any armour find  
Might be of proof, such as could fence your mind:  
Or could you any stratagem devise  
Against th' Artillery 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 Scipios and the Caesars, who  
Come short of thee, for thou dost them outgo  
As far in Virtue as the truth precedes  
Falsehood, or real actions feigned deeds;  
They were extolled 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 Virtues are the Objects of thy will,  
Vain fame of theirs, with it the world to fill.  
And whereas the same Virtues, which in show,  
These had, who most had, had of them but few;  
Thou Basil in a number art known well,  
Not to be equalised 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 sat in's Throne)  
Have beat upon the British coast, or know  
How many plants in the whole world do grow,  
Then I an even number can invent,  
Which to thy Virtues 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 signed in Heaven 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 much 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 fixed Stars, which thence such distance bear.  
But Basil I dare never undertake  
Of all thy virtues, a just sum to make.  
And such they also be, that whosoever  
In time to come shall hear of them, and ne'er  
Render due honour 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 Heaven doth detest;  
And let their leprous names dishonoured die,  
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 Lover's heart enshrine.  
Wonder not at it, sigh that such she is  
As in herself's a Magazine of Bliss;  
Beauty and Bliss in her together join,  
And do thy Happiness, O Basil sign!  
This is sweet Dorothy, who is designed  
By Nature's self the glory of her kind;  
On whom when brighter than the Sun I gaze  
My senses all do tread a Lover's 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 Heaven?   

Some say for Hero lovely Cupid pined,  
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 heavenly 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 fair was Hero, Venus' Nun,  
As Nature wept thinking she was undone,  
Because she took more from her than she left,  
And of such wondrous Beauty her bereft.  
Believe it they that will, for Henry, I  
Say an Hyperbole it is, or lie:  
But I am sure so fair is Dorothy,  
And so eminent in superiority,  
That I (methinks) see Nature stand at gaze,  
Proud that she should so rare a Fabric raise,  
Yet doubtful to acknowledge it, lest she  
Might seem t'encroach upon Divinity.  
And Nature may triumph, having brought forth  
A Creature of such Beauty and such worth,  
As Nature's God delighteth in to see,  
And Angels muse to hear the Melody  
Of her sweet voice, O rare and Heavenly voice!  
The Essence of their tunes when they rejoice.   

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 forehead, O how fair, how heavenly  
It looks! the white Swan, Snow or Ivory  
Come as far short as fairest Flowers exceed  
In lovely Beauty the most ugly Weed:  
Her Eyebrows 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 Astronomy?  
And mark their motions more than those who light,  
Though higher set, less pleasant are to sight,  
Having such virtue in them as to turn  
Stones into men, and make mere rocks to burn;  
And why not so? if that their radiant light  
Will perfectly outshine Sol at his height,  
And add such lustre to the darksome Moon,  
As may make midnight even as light as Noon.  
Her cheeks spread with a colour of such hue,  
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? sigh that 'tis known in heart  
And body too, she's Royalised in part;  
And sure in some sort 'tis a heavenly thing  
To have relation to a glorious King.  
Sith Kings are Gods, who dare to it say no,  
When God hath signed their warrants to be so.   

But O the Virtue in her lips that is  
Able to ravish if disposed to Kiss!  
Divinely ravish, to an ecstasy  
With joys and pleasures, O how heavenly!  
And why not so? sigh Rubies they surpass,  
And they abound with most refined Grace,  
From whence true Nectar is so poured forth,  
As Jove himself ne'er tasted of such worth.  
And oh the choice Pearls which her Lips do hid!  
(Choice things are rare, they seldom are espied,)  
And oh the fluent Tongue those Pearls contain!  
Never yet known let lose to speech in vain,  
And oh how powerful 'tis when it hath force  
To quicken stones, and stop the Ocean's course!  
And why not so? if that the Powers divine,  
Unto it harken, and her will incline.  
And oh her breath more sweet than 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 Heaven itself doth stoop  
To them, and joy to see them lifted up.  
But what is he that is not more than man,  
Can her sublime perfections truly scan?  
Much less set forth, sigh certainly there's none  
Who breathes 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 only what's above, but what's below!  
And sure, the hidden equalise the known,  
Thou may'st enjoy her all, she is thine own;  
She is thine own, yea, perfectly she's thine,  
And ne'er 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 Elysium,  
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 Heaven 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 Muse's spell,  
Reduced a Soul, maugre the power of those  
Fell destinies which durst him to oppose:  
Touch thou his Harp with the rare Phoenix Quill,  
And bid him show the utmost of his skill,  
Making such music, that Beast, Trees, and Stone,  
May dance at their joys celebration:  
And thou great Queen of Jove, who dost assist  
Nuptials, by making happy those thou list.  
So shower 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 Hesperideses.  
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 than they as yet have done,  
But do not thou with unbelief them stain,  
Sith they more truth than Sibyl's leaves contain.   

O blessed Basil, thou enjoyest one  
Wh'exceeds the height of admiration!  
Who had she lived when first the World began,  
Some God 'tis thought would not have suffered 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 possessed so rare a Deity.  
Sure had she lived before the Wars of Troy,  
Helen whose Beauty caused so great annoy  
Unto that City's everlasting doom  
(For hence against it, Greece in arms did come.)  
I say, if Dorothy had lived then,  
We ne'er had heard of highly famed Helen;  
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 Helen I canno● well rehearse,  
Nor wilt 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 deemed  
Almost itself to have excelled seemed:  
And therefore now no other help but thine,  
I shall request thy great gift to define,  
And scorn assistance from the Muse's Hill,  
Where thou, O God, shalt please to guide 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 finds fulfilled, 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 than Wine,  
Every one of them being apt far  
To ravish then entice, so rare they are!  
Angelicals' her gesture, and her gate  
Most lovely sweet, humbly conjoined with state.  
Pure Virtue is her Handmaid, 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 balances 'twere laid  
With the whole Earth, by it 'twould be out weighed.  
Faith, Hope, and Charity, adorn her breast,  
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 thyself 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 sense,  
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 conjoined,  
But Basilean Dorothy entwined?  
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 senses 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 filled 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 blessed Nativity,  
Sol, Jove, and Mercury, yourselves then place,  
So as ye may make fortunate their race,  
Yea, all the Stars of Heaven jointly 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 fly,  
Highly renowned 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 Ocean's sand;  
And when their Souls their Bodies shall forsake,  
Unto thyself, them O Almighty take!  
And at the great and general day of Doom,  
When thy dear Son shall unto Judgement come.  
Do thou, O do their Souls and Bodies crown,  
With Everlasting Honour and Renown;  
So that they e'er may in thy Kingdom sing,  
Glory and Praise to thee their Lord and King.   

Reader farewel, farewel all Poetry,  
Farewell sweet Basil, and fair Dorothy,  
And O thrice welcome dear Eternity.    
FINIS.