The poems of William Habington Edited with introduction and commentary by Kenneth Allott |
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To CASTARA.
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The poems of William Habington | ||
To CASTARA.
Of true delight.
Why doth the eare so tempt the voyce,
That cunningly divides the ayre?
Why doth the pallate buy the choyce
Delights oth' sea, to enrich her fare?
That cunningly divides the ayre?
Why doth the pallate buy the choyce
Delights oth' sea, to enrich her fare?
As soone as I, my eare obey
The Eccho's lost even with the breath.
And when the sewer takes away
I'm left with no more taste, then death.
The Eccho's lost even with the breath.
And when the sewer takes away
I'm left with no more taste, then death.
Be curious in pursuite of eyes
To procreate new loves with thine;
Satiety makes sence despise
What superstition thought divine.
To procreate new loves with thine;
Satiety makes sence despise
What superstition thought divine.
Quicke fancy how it mockes delight?
As we conceive, things are not such,
The glow-worme is as warme as bright,
Till the deceitfull flame we touch.
As we conceive, things are not such,
The glow-worme is as warme as bright,
Till the deceitfull flame we touch.
When I have sold my heart to lust
And bought repentance with a kisse
I find the malice of my dust,
That told me hell contain'd a blisse.
And bought repentance with a kisse
I find the malice of my dust,
That told me hell contain'd a blisse.
95
The Rose yeelds her sweete blandishment
Lost in the fold of lovers wreathes,
The violet enchants the sent
When earely in the Spring she breaths.
Lost in the fold of lovers wreathes,
The violet enchants the sent
When earely in the Spring she breaths.
But winter comes and makes each flowre
Shrinke from the pillow where it growes,
Or an intruding cold hath powre
To scorne the perfume of the Rose.
Shrinke from the pillow where it growes,
Or an intruding cold hath powre
To scorne the perfume of the Rose.
Our sences like false glasses show
Smooth beauty where browes wrinkled are,
And makes the cosen'd fancy glow
Chaste vertue's onely true and faire.
Smooth beauty where browes wrinkled are,
And makes the cosen'd fancy glow
Chaste vertue's onely true and faire.
The poems of William Habington | ||