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. 

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

Our Hearts are doubled by their loss,
   Here mixture is Addition grown;
We both defuse, and both ingross:
   And we whose Minds are so much one,
   Never, yet ever are alone.

We court our own Captivity
   Then Thrones more great and innocent:
T'were Banishment to be set free,
   Since  we wear Fetters whose intent
   Not bondage is, but Ornament.

Divided Joys 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.

Our Hearts are mutual Victims laid,
   Which they (such Pow'r in friendship lies)
Are Altars, Priests, and Off'rings made:
   And each heart which thus kindly dies,
   Graces deathless by the Sacrifice.