L' Amitie. To Mrs. Mary Awbrey.

SOul of my Soul, my joy, my crown, my Friend,
A name which all the rest doth comprehend;
How happy are we now, whose Souls are grown
By an incomparable mixture one.
Whose well-acquainted Minds are now as near
As Love, or Vows, or Friendship can endear?
I have no thought but what's to thee reveal'd,
Nor thou desire that is from me conceal'd.
Thy Heart locks up my Secrets richly set;
And my Breast is thy private Cabinet.
Thou shed'st no tear but what my moisture lent,
And if I sigh, it is thy breath is spent.
United thus, what Horrour can appear
Worthy our Sorrow, Anger, or our Fear?
Let the dull World alone to talk and fight,
And with their vast Ambitions Nature fright;
Let them despise so Innocent a flame,
While Envy, Pride and Faction play their game:
But we by Love sublim'd so high shall rise,
To pity Kings, and Conquerours despise;
Since we that Sacred Union have engrost
Which they and all the sullen World have lost.