The poems of William Habington Edited with introduction and commentary by Kenneth Allott |
 | 1. |
| 2. |
|
To the Right Honourable the Countesse of C.
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 3. |
|
|
|
 | The poems of William Habington |  |
To the Right Honourable the Countesse of C.
Madam,
Should the cold Muscovit, whose furre and stoveCan scarse prepare him heate enough for love,
But view the wonder of your presence, he
Would scorne his winters sharpest injury:
And trace the naked groves, till he found bayse
To write the beautious triumphs of your prayse.
As a dull Poet even he would say,
Th' unclouded Sun had never showne them day
Till that bright minute; that he now admires
No more why the coy Spring so soone retires
From their unhappy clyme; It doth pursue
The Sun, and he derives his light from you.
Hee'd tell you how the fetter'd Baltick Sea
Is set at freedome, while the yce away
Doth melt at your approach; how by so faire
Harmonious beauty, their rude manners are
91
The wealthiest mines below, above the Spring.
Thus would his wonder speake. For he would want
Religion to beleeve, there were a Saint
Within, and all he saw was but the shrine.
But I here pay my vowes to the devine
Pure essence there inclos'd, which if it were
Not hid in a faire cloud, but might appeare
In its full lustre, would make Nature live
In a state equall to her primitive.
But sweetly thats obscur'd. Yet though our eye
Cannot the splendor of your soule descry
In true perfection, by a glimmering light,
Your language yeelds us, we can guesse how bright
The Sunne within you shines, and curse th' unkind
Eclipse, or else our selves for being blinde.
How hastily doth Nature build up man
To leave him so imperfect? For he can
See nought beyond his sence; she doth controule
So farre his sight he nere discern'd a soule.
For had yours beene the object of his eye;
It had turn'd wonder to Idolatry.
| The poems of William Habington | |