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ject, best ordinances are interpreted innovations. Had I slept in the silence of my acquaintance, and effected no study beyond that which the chase or field allowes, poetry had then beene no scandall upon me, and the love of learning no suspition of ill husbandry. But what malice, begot in the country upon ignorance, or in the city upon criticisme, shall prepare against me, I am armed to endure. For as the face of vertue lookes faire without the adultery of art, so fame needes no ayde from rumour to strengthen her selfe. If these lines want that courtship, (I will not say flattery) which insinuates it selfe into the favour of great men, best; they partake of my modesty: If satyre to win applause with the envious multitude; they expresse my content, which maliceth none the fruition of that, they esteeme happie. And if not too indulgent to what is my owne; I thinke even these verses will have that proportion in the world's opinion, that Heaven hath allotted me in fortune; not so high, as to be wondred at, nor so low as to be contemned.

COMMENDATORY VERSES.

TO HIS BEST FRIEND AND KINSMAN
WILLIAM HABINGTON, ESQUIRE.
NOT in the silence of content and store
Of private sweets ought thy Muse charme no more
Than thy Castara's eare. Twere wrong such gold
Should not like mines, (poore nam'd to this) behold
It selfe a publicke joy. Who her restraine,
Make a close prisner of a soveraigne.
Inlarge her then to triumph. While we see
Such worth in beauty, such desert in thee,
Such mutuall flames betweene you both, as show
How chastity, though yce, like love can glow,
Yet stand a virgin: how that full content
By vertue is to soules united, lent,
Which proves all wealth is poore, all honours are
But empty titles, highest power but care,
That quits not cost. Yet Heaven, to vertue kind,
Math given you plenty to suffice a minde
That knowes but temper. For beyond, your state-
May be a prouder, not a happier fate.

I write not this in hope t' incroach on fame,
'Or adde a greater lustre to your name,
Bright in it selfe enough. We two are knowne
To th' world, as to our selves, to be but one,
In blood as study: and my carefull love
Did never action worth my name approve,
Which serv'd not thee. Nor did we ere contend,
'But who should be best patterne of a friend.
Who read thee, praise thy fancie, and admire
Thee burning with so high and pure a fire,
As reaches Heaven it selfe. But I who know
Thy soule religious to her ends, where grow
No sinnes by art or custome, boldly can
Stile thee more than good poet, a good man.
Then let thy temples shake off vulgar bayes,
Th' hast built an altar which enshrines thy praise:
And to the faith of after-time commends
Yee the best paire of lovers, us of friends.

GEORGE TALBOT.

POEMS

OF

WILLIAM HABINGTON.

CASTARA.

THE FIRST PART.

-Carmina non prius Audita, Musarum sacerdos virginibus.

A MISTRIS

Is the fairest treasure, the avarice of Love can covet; and the onely white, at which he shootes his arrowes, nor while his aime is noble, can he ever hit upon repentance. She is chaste, for the devill enters the idoll and gives the oracle, when wantonnesse possesseth beauty, and wit maintaines it lawfall. She is as faire as Nature intended her, helpt perhaps to a more pleasing grace by the sweetnesse of education, not by the slight of art. She is young, for a woman past the delicacie of her spring, may well move by vertue to respect, never by beauty to affection. Shee is innocent even from the knowledge of sinne, for vice is too strong to be wrastled with, and gives her frailty the foyle. She is not proude, though the amorous youth interpret her modestie to that sence; but in her vertue weares so much majestie, lust dares not rebell, nor though masqued, under the pretence of love, capitulate with her. She entertaines not every parley offer'd, although the articles pretended to her advantage: advice and her owne feares restraine her, and woman never owed ruine to too much caution. She glories not in the plurality of servants, a multitude of adorers Heaven can onely challeng; and it is impietie in her weakenesse to desire superstition from many. She is deafe to the whispers of love, and even on the marriage houre can breake off,

without the least suspition of scandall, to the former liberty of her carriage. She avoydes a too neere conversation with man, and like the Parthian overcomes by flight. Her language is not copious but apposit, and she had rather suffer the reproach of being dull company, than have the title of witty, with that of bold and wanton. In her carriage she is sober, and thinkes her youth expresseth life enough, without the giddy motion, fashion of late hath taken up. She danceth to the best applause but doates not on the vanity of it, nor licenceth an irregular meeting to vaunt the levity of her skill. She sings, but not perpetually, for she knowes, silence in woman is the most perswading oratory. She never arrived to so much familiarity with man as to know the demunitive of his name, and call him by it; and she can show a competent favour: without yeelding her hand to his gripe. Shee never understood the language of a kisse, but at salutation, nor dares the courtier use so much of his practised impudence as to offer the rape of it from her: because chastity hath write it unlawfull, and her behaviour proclaimes it unwelcome. She is never sad, and yet not jiggish; her conscience is cleere from guilt, and that secures her from She is not passionately in love with poetry, because it softens the heart too much to love but she likes the harmony in the composition; and the brave examples of vertue celebrated by it, she proposeth to her imitation. She is not vaine in the history of her gay kindred or acquaintance: since vertue is often tenant to a cottage, and familiarity with greatnesse (if worth be not transcendant above the title) is but a glorious servitude, fooles onely are willing to suffer. She is not ambitious to be praised, and yet vallues death beneath infamy. And Ile conclude, (though the next sinod of ladies condemne this character as an heresie broacht by a precision) that onely she who

sorrow.

TO CASTARA,

A VOW.

By those chaste lamps which yeeld a silent light,
To the cold vrnes of virgins; by that night,
Which guilty of no crime, doth onely heare
The vowes of recluse nuns, and th' an'thrit's prayer;
And by thy chaster selfe; my fervent zeale
Like mountaine yce, which the north winds con-
To purest christall, feeles no wanton fire. [geale,
But as the humble pilgrim, (whose desire
Blest in Christ's cottage view by angels' hands,
Transported from sad Bethlem,) wondring stands
At the great miracle. So I at thee,

Whose beauty is the shrine of chastity.

Thus my bright Muse in a new orbe shall move, And even teach religion how to love.

hath as great a share in vertue as in beauty, deserves a noble love to serve her, and a free poesie to speake her.

TO CASTARA,

A SACRIFICE.

LET the chaste phoenix from the flowry East,
Bring the sweete treasure of her perfum'd nest,
As incense to this altar where the name
Of my Castara's grav'd by th' hand of Fame.
Let purer virgins, to redeeme the aire
From loose infection, bring their zealous prayer,
T" assist at this great feast. where they shall see,
What rites Love offers up to Chastity.
Let all the amorous youth, whose faire desire
Felt never warmth but from a noble fire,
Bring hither their bright flames: which here shall
As tapers fixt about Castara's shrine.

[shine

While I the priest, my untam'd heart, surprise, And in this temple mak't her sacrifice.

TO CASTARA,

PRAYING.

I SAW Castara pray, and from the skie,
A winged legion of bright angels flie
To catch her vowes, for feare her virgin prayer,
Might chance to mingle with impurer ane.
To vulgar eyes, the sacred truth I write,
May seeme a fancie. But the eagle's sight
Of saints, and poets, miracles oft view,
Which to dull heretikes appeare untrue.
Faire zeale begets such wonders. O divine
And purest beauty, let me thee enshrine
In my devoted soule, and from thy praise,
T'enrich my garland, pluck religious bayes.
Shine thou the starre by which my thoughts
shall move,

Best subject of my pen, queene of my love.

TO.

ROSES IN THE BOSOME OF CASTARA.

YEE blushing virgins happie are
In the chaste nunn'ry of her brests,
For hee'd prophane so chaste a faire,
Who ere shall call them Cupid's nests.
Transplanted thus how bright yee grow,
How rich a perfume doe yee yeeld?
In some close garden, cowslips so
Are sweeter than i'th' open field.
In those white cloysters live secure
From the rude blasts of wanton breath,
Each houre more inuocent and pure,
Till you shall wither into death.

Then that which living gave you roome,
Your glorious sepulcher shall be.
There wants no marble for a tombe,
Whose brest hath marble becne to me.

TO CASTARA,

OF HIS BEING IN LOVE.

WHERE am I? not in Heaven: for oh I feele
The stone of Sisiphus, Ixion's wheele;
And all those tortures, poets (by their wine
Made judges) laid on Tantalus, are mine.
Nor yet am I in Hell; for still I stand,
Though giddy in my passion, on firme land.
And still behold the seasons of the yeare,
Springs in my hope, and winters in my feare.
And sure I'me 'bove the Earth, for th' highest star
Shoots beames, but dim, to what Castara's are,
And in her sight and favour I even shine
In a bright orbe beyond the christalline.

If then Castara I in Heaven nor move,
Nor Earth, nor Hell; where am I but in Love!

TO MY HONOURED FRIEND,
MR. ENDYMION PORTER.

NOT still i'th' shine of kings. Thou dost retire
Sometime to th' holy shade, where the chaste quire
Of Muses doth the stubborne panther awe,
And give the wildenesse of his nature law.
The wind his chariot stops: th' attentive rocke
The rigor doth of its creation mocke,
And gently melts away: Argus to heare
The musicke, turnes each eye into an eare.
To welcome thee, Endymion, glorious they
Triumph to force these creatures disobey
What Nature hath enacted. But no charme
The Muses have these monsters can disarme
Of their innated rage: no spell can tame
The North-wind's fury, but Castara's name.
Climbe yonder forked hill, and see if there
I'th' barke of every Daphne, not appeare
Castara written; and so markt by me,
How great a prophet growes each virgin tree?
Lie downe, and listen what the sacred spring
In her harmonious murmures, strives to sing
To th' neighb'ring banke, ere her loose waters erre
Through common channels; sings she not of her?
Behold yond' violet, which such honour gaines,
That growing but to emulate her veines,

It's azur'd like the skie: when she doth bow
T' invoke Castara, Heav'n perfumes her vow.
The trees, the water, and the flowers adore
The deity of her sex, and through each pore
Breath forth her glories. But unquiet love
To make thy passions so uncourtly prove,
As if all eares should heare her praise alone.
Now listen thou; Endymion sings his owne.

TO CASTARA.

Dor not their prophane orgies heare,
Who but to wealth no altars reare.
The soule's oft poys'ned through the eare.
Castara, rather seeke to dwell
I'th' silence of a private cell,
Rich discontent's a glorious Hell.
Yet Hindlip doth not want extent
Of roome (though not magnificent)
To give free welcome to content.

There shalt thou see the earely Spring,
That wealthy stocke of Nature bring,
Of which the Sybils bookes did sing.
From fruitlesse palmes shall honey flow,
And barren Winter harvest show,
While lillies in his bosome grow,

No North winde shall the corne infest,
But the soft spirit of the East,

Our sent with perfum❜d banquets feast.
A Satyre here and there shall trip,
In hope to purchase leave to sip
Sweete nectar from a Fairie's lip.
The Nimphs with quivers shall adorne
Their active sides and rouse the morne
With the shrill musicke of their horne.
Wakened with which, and viewing thee,
Faire Daphne her faire selfe shall free,
From the chaste prison of a tree:
And with Narcissus (to thy face
Who humbly will ascribe all grace)
Shall once againe pursue the chase.
So they whose wisdome did discusse
Of these as fictions: shall in us
Finde, they were more than fabulous.

TO CASTARA,

SOFTLY SINGING TO HER SELFE.

SING forth, sweete cherubin, (for we have choice
Of reasons in thy beauty and thy voyce,
To name thee so, and scarce appeare prophane)
Sing forth, that while the orbs celestial straine
To eccho thy sweete note, our humane eares
May then receive the musicke of the spheres.
But yet take heede, lest if the swans of Thames,
That adde harmonious pleasure to the streames,
O'th' sudden heare thy well-divided breath,
Should listen, and in silence welcome death:
And ravisht nightingales, striving too high
To reach thee,, in the emulation dye.

And thus there will be left no bird to sing.
Farewell to th' waters, welcome to the spring,

TO A WANTON.

In vaine, faire sorceresse, thy eyes speake charmes,
In vaine thou mak'st loose circles with thy armes.
I'me 'bove thy spels. No magicke him can move,
In whom Castara hath inspir'd her love.
As she, keepe thou strict cent'nell o're thy eare,
Lest it the whispers of soft courtiers heare;
Reade not his raptures, whose invention must
Write journey worke, both of his patron's lust
And his owne plush: let no admirer feast
His eye o'th' naked banquet of thy brest.
If this faire president, nor yet my want
Of love, to answer thine, make thee recant
Thy sorc'ries; pity shall to justice turne,
And judge thee witch, in thy own flames to burne.

ΤΟ

THE HONOURABLE MY MUCH HONOURED
FRIEND, R. B. ESQUIRE'.

WHILE you dare trust the loudest tongue of fame,
The zeale you beare your mistresse to proclaim
To th' talking world: I in the silenst grove,
Scarce to my selfe dare whisper that I love..
Thee titles Brud'nell, riches thee adorne,
And vigorous youth to vice not headlong borne
By th' tide of custome: which I value more
Than what blind superstitious fooles adore,
Who greatnesse in the chaire of blisse enthrone,
Greatnesse we borrow, vertue is our owne.
In thy attempt be prosperous and when ere
Thou shalt prefix the houre; may Hymen weare
His brightest robe; where some fam'd Persian shall
Worke by the wonder of her needle all
The nuptiall joyes; which (if we poets be
True prophets) bounteous Heaven designes for
I envie not, but glory in thy fate,

While in the narrow limits of my state

[thee.

I bound my hopes, which if Castara daigne
Once to entitle hers; the wealthiest graine
My earth, untild shall beare; my trees shall grone
Vnder their fruitfull burthen, and at one
And the same season, Nature forth shall bring
Riches of Autumne, pleasures of the Spring.
But digge and thou shalt finde a purer mine
Than th' Indians boast: taste of this generous vine,
And her blood sweeter will than nectar prove,
Such miracles wait on a noble love.

But should she scorne my sute, l'le tread that path
Which none but some sad Fairy beaten hath.
Then force wrong'd Philomel, hearing my mone,
To sigh my greater griefes, forget her owne.

TO CASTARA,

INQUIRING WHY I LOVED HER.

WHY doth the stubborne iron prove
So gentle to th' magnetique stone?

"Robert Brudenell, afterwards second earl of Cardigan,

How know you that the orbs doe move;

The dages, bast nimbly; and while as they wie, With musicke wo? since heard of none ?

Each of them with their predecessors vie, And I will answer why I love.

Which yecide most pleasure; you to them dispence,

What Time lost with his cradle, innocence. 'Tis not thy vertues, each a starre

So I (if fancie not delade my sight,).
Which in thy soules bright spheare doe shine,

See often the pale monarch of the night,
Shooting their beauties from a farre,
To make each gazers heart like thine;

Diana, 'mong her nimphs. For every quire

Of vulgar starres who lend their weaker fire Our vertues ofren meteors are.

To conquer the night's chilnesse, with their queene, 'Tis not thy face, I cannot spie,

In harmelesse revels tread the happy greene. When poets weepe sorne virgin's death,

But I who am proscrib'd by tyrant Love, That Cupid wantons in her eye,

Seeke out a silent exile in some grove, Or perfumes vapour from her breath,

Where Dought except a solitary spring, And ’mongst the dead thou once must lie.

Was ever beard, to which the Nimphs did sing

Narcissus' obsequies: For onely there Nor is't thy birth. For I was ne're

Is musique apt to catch an am'rous eare: So vaine as in that to delight:

Castara! oh my heart! how great a flame Which, ballance it, no weight doth beare,

Did even shoot into me with her name? Nor yet is object to the sight,

Castara hath betray'd me to a żeale But onely fils the vulgar eare.

Which thus distracts my hopes. Flints may conceale Nor yet thy fortunes: since I know

In their cold veynes a fire. But I whose heart They, in their motion like the sea,

By love's dissolv’d, ne're practis'd that cold art. Ebbe from the good, to the impious flow :

But truce thou warring passion, for I'le now And so in flattery betray,

Maddam to you addresse this solemne vow. That raising they but overthrow.

Ry vertue and your selfe (best friends) I finde

la the interiour province of your minde And yet these attributes might prove

Such government: that if great men obey Puell enough t'enflame desire;

Th' example of your order, they will sway But there was something from above,

Without reproofe; for onely you unitė Shot without reason's guide, this fire.

Honour with sweetenesse, vertue with delights I know, yet know not, why I love.

VPON CASTARA'S
TO CASTARA,

PROWNE OR SMILE.
LOOKING UPON HIM.
TRANSFIX me with that flaming dart,

LEARNED shade of Tycho Brache, who to us, I'th'eye, or brest or any part,

The stars propheticke language didst impart, So thou, Castara, spare my heart.

And even in life their mysteries discusse:

Castara hath o'rethrowne thy strongest art. The cold Cymerian by that bright

When custome struggles from her beaten path, Warme wound i'th' darknesse of his night,

Then accidents must needs uncertaine be, Might both recover heat, and light.

For if Castara smile; though winter hath The rugged Scythian gently move,

Lock't up the rivers: summer's warme in me. I'th' whispering shadow of some grove,

And Flora by the miracle reviv'd, That's consecrate to sportive love.

Doth even at her owne beauty wondring stand, December see the primrose grow,

But should she frowne, the northerne wind arrird, The rivers in soft murmurs flow,

In midst of summer, leads his frozen band : And from his head shake off his snow.

Which doth to yce my youthfull blood congeale;

Yet in the midst of yce, still dames my zeale. And crooked age might feele againe Those heates, of which youth did complaine, While fresh blood swels each withered veyne. For the bright lustre of thy eyes,

IN CASTARA, Which but to warme them would suffice,

ALL FORTUNES.
May burne me to a sacrifice.

Ye glorious wits, who finde than Parian stone,
A nobler quarry to build trophies on,

Purchast 'gainst conquer'd time, go court loud
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE

He wins it, who but sings Castara's name? (fame, THE COUNTESSE OF AR!

Aspiring soules, who grow but in a spring,

Forc't by the warmth of some indalgent king: Wisa'd with delight, (yet such as still doth beare Know if Castara smile: I dwell in it, Chast vertue's stamp) those children of the yeere, And vie for glory with the favourit.

Ye sonues of avarice, who but to share • Margaret daughter of William Douglas, earlvncertaine treasure with a certaine care, of Morton, wife of Archibald, eighth earl of Teinpt death in th' horrid ocean: I, when ere Argyle.

I but approach her, and the Indies there.

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