Katherine Philips (1631 - 1664 / London)

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COme, my Lucasia, since we see
That Miracles Mens faith do move,
By wonder and by prodigy
To the dull angry world let's prove
There's a Religion in our Love.

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For though we were design'd t' agree,
That Fate no liberty destroyes,
But our Election is as free
As Angels, who with greedy choice
Are yet determin'd to their joyes.

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Our hearts are doubled by the loss,
Here Mixture is Addition grown ;
We both diffuse, and both ingross :
And we whose minds are so much one,
Never, yet ever are alone.

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We court our own Captivity
Than Thrones more great and innocent :
'Twere banishment to be set free,
Since we wear fetters whose intent
Not Bondage is, but Ornament.

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Divided joyes are tedious found,
And griefs united easier grow :
We are our selves but by rebound,
And all our Titles shuffled so,
Both Princes, and both Subjects too.

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Our Hearts are mutual Victims laid,
While they (such power in Friendship lies)
Are Altars, Priests, and Off'rings made :
And each Heart which thus kindly dies,
Grows deathless by the Sacrifice.