The poems of William Habington | ||
74
To Vaine hope.
Thou dreame of madmen, ever changing gale,Swell with thy wanton breath the gaudy saile
Of glorious fooles. Thou guid'st them who thee court
To rocks, to quick-sands, or some faithlesse port.
Were I not mad, who when secure at ease,
I might ith' Cabbin passe the raging Seas,
Would like a franticke shipboy wildly haste,
To climbe the giddy top of th' unsafe mast?
Ambition never to her hopes did faine
A greatnesse, but I really obtaine
In my Castara. Wer't not fondnesse then
T' embrace the shadowes of true blisse? And when
My Paradise all flowers and fruits doth breed:
To rob a barren garden for a weed?
The poems of William Habington | ||