A Congratulatory Encomium Upon the happy conjunction of the high deserts of MR. ROBERT BUCKLE, With the Unparallelled Virtues of MRS. DEBORAH PRINCE.  
The 26th. day of May. 1671.  

ENter not here vain thoughts or eyes, or hands;  
Virtues & highborn Graces give commands  
To silence all that rude & lawless noise,  
Which purer mirth & chaster minds annoys.  
The splendour of this day admits not here  
The least offence: Be gone & disappear  
Ye cloudy thoughts that fill the lower sphaer:  
Sublimed minds & innocence most clear  
With heavenly grace are here advanced on high:  
Pure virtue with a PRINCELY Majesty  
Holds forth the sceptre to each noble soul  
That BUCKLE can, comply, & so control  
Their foolish passions: So these Nuptials 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 Stoics feast;  
Nor a Saturnin Aspect in the least.  
There is a noble thing reigns here called Love,  
Of purest extract darting from above:  
Bastard is all Religion, & wry-faced  
Are virtues, if not with its beauty graced.  
Love that Prometheus-like the soul inspires;  
And fills the lower region with its fires:  
Love that makes dull & breathless souls revive,  
And 'bove the lower race of mortals live:  
Love that cures horrid evils, dreadful jars,  
O'recoms & sweetens all perplexing cares.  
Love that's the Quintessence of this days glory:  
Of which be pleased to take this pleasing story;   

Descended from fair Albion's 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 far exceeds her years  
To vainer youths enticements stops her ears:  
She se'es through foggy mists of watery lands,  
And vouchsafes not to yield her conquered hands  
To any, till there comes from English soil  
A soul Heroick who will take no foil:  
'Tis Mr. BUCKLE who her heart hath won,  
And got the Rhetoric to make two one  
Her rare endowments, her composure sweet,  
Her humble Lamblike frame, behaviour meet,  
Her winning carriage that would melt a stone,  
Transporting and enamouring every 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 real constancy  
Within his faithful 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 heart's Commandress, thus he courts:  
Well-spoken DEBORAH eftsoon retorts,  
With Eloquence, (for so her name imports)  
My ROBERT whose grave Name is thus expressed,  
Famous for counsel & advice to rest,  
My highest strain of Wisdom's to obey  
The dictates of your counsels every day:  
My BUCKLE bind me but with your commands:  
My greatest freedom lies within those bands.  
Thus names conspire in this sweet sympathy,  
Yea every letter in this harmony:   


R ude though I be, yet have I got the art  
O f such a empiric as can pierce the heart,  
B reek through & open that cabinet where lies  
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 unto this day wherein my joys abound;  
C rowned with enjoyment of a Bride, in whom  
K indness & goodness rule & overcome,  
L odged 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 enter to your love, I ventured, to please you,  
O ut of that Virgin-state, where I till now  
R efreshed was with my retired state,  
A and there in silence deep did contemplate:  
H oping to find without distraction  
In you more satisfaction.   

P ierced 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 hoses 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 faithful loves: Be happy in each other.  
And may all joys continually betid  
The modest Bridegroom & the lovely Bride.    

The Author's 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.