The poems of William Habington Edited with introduction and commentary by Kenneth Allott |
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To my honoured Friend, Mr. E. P.
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 | The poems of William Habington |  |
To my honoured Friend, Mr. E. P.
Not still ith' shine of Kings. Thou dost retireSometime 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-winds fury, but Castara's name.
Climbe yonder forked hill, and see if there
Ith' barke of every Daphne, not appeare
Castara written; And so markt by me,
How great a Prophet growes each Virgin tree?
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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, heaven perfumes her vow.
The trees, the waters, 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.
| The poems of William Habington | |