THE disunited Scythians when they sought To gather strength by parties, and combine That perfect league of friends which once being wrought No turn of time or fortune could untwine, This rite they held: a massy bowl was brought, And every right arm shot his several blood Into the mazer till 'twas fully fraught. Then having stirred it to an equal flood They quaffed to th' union, which till death should last, In spite of private foe, or foreign fear; And this blood-sacrament being known t' have past, Their names grew dreadful to all far and near. O then, great Monarch, with how wise a care Do you these bloods divided mix in one, And with like consanguinities prepare The high, and everliving Union 'Tween Scots and English! who can wonder then If he that marries kingdoms, marries men? |