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The poems of William Habington

Edited with introduction and commentary by Kenneth Allott
Habington, William (1605-1654)

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CASTARA:
  
To his best friend and Kinsman William Habington, Esquire.
  
To CASTARA,
  
To CASTARA,
  
To Roses in the bosome of CASTARA.
  
To CASTARA,
  
To CASTARA,
  
To my honoured Friend, Mr. E. P.
  
To CASTARA.
  
To CASTARA,
  
To a Wanton.
  
To the Honourable my much honoured friend, R. B. Esquire.
  
To CASTARA,
  
To CASTARA,
  
To the right honourable the Countesse of Ar.
  
Vpon CASTARA'S frowne or smile.
  
In CASTARA,
  
Vpon thought CASTARA may dye.
  
Time to the moments, on sight of CASTARA.
  
To a friend inquiring her name, whom he loved.
  
A Dialogue betweene HOPE and FEARE.
  
To CVPID,
  
Vpon CVPID'S death and buriall in CASTARA'S cheeke.
  
To Fame.
  
A Dialogue betweene ARAPHILL and CASTARA.
  
To CASTARA,
  
Vpon CASTARA'S departure.
  
To CASTARA,
  
To CASTARA,
  
Vpon CASTARA'S absence.
  
To CASTARA,
  
To THAMES.
  
To the right honourable the Earle of SHREWES.
  
To CVPID.
  
To CASTARA.
  
To the Spring,
  
To Reason,
  
An answere to CASTARA'S question.
  
To CASTARA,
  
To the honourable my honoured kinsman Mr. G. T.
  
Eccho to Narcissus.
  
To CASTARA,
  
To Seymors,
  
To the Dew,
  
To CASTARA.
  
To CASTARA,
  
Vpon CASTARA'S departure.
  
A Dialogue betweene NIGHT and ARAPHIL.
  
To the Right Honourable, the Lady, E. P.
  
To CASTARA,
  
An Apparition.
  
To the Honourable Mr. Wm. E.
  
To CASTARA,
  
To my honoured Friend and Kinsman, R. St. Esquire
  
To the World.
  
To the Winter.
  
Vpon a visit to CASTARA in the Night.
  
To CASTARA. Of the chastity of his Love.
  
The Description Of CASTARA.
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CASTARA
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To CASTARA,
  
To CASTARA,
  
To Zephirus.
  
To CASTARA
  
To DEATH,
  
To CASTARA
  
Upon CASTARA'S recoverie.
  
To a Friend,
  
To CASTARA,
  
To CASTARA.
  
To CASTARA,
  
To CASTARA,
  
To CASTARA,
  
To CASTARA,
  
To the Right Honourable the Lady F.
  
To CASTARA.
  
To CASTARA.
  
To CASTARA,
  
A Dialogue betweene ARAPHILL and CASTARA.
  
To the Right Honourable HENRY Lord M.
  
To a Tombe.
  
To CASTARA.
  
To the Right Honourable, the Lord P.
  
His Muse speakes to him.
  
To Vaine hope.
  
To CASTARA,
  
To CASTARA.
  
On the death of the Right Honourable, GEORGE Earle of S.
  
To my worthy Cousin Mr. E. C.
  
Loves Aniversarie
  
Against them who lay unchastity to the sex of Women.
  
To the Right Honourable and excellently learned, William Earle of St.
  
To CASTARA,
  
To the Honourable, G. T.
  
To CASTARA.
  
To my noblest Friend, Sir I. P. Knight.
  
To The Right Honourable Archibald Earle of Ar.
  
An Elegy upon The Honourable Henry Cambell, sonne to the Earle of Ar.
  
To CASTARA.
  
To CASTARA,
  
To the Moment last past
  
To CASTARA.
  
To the Right Honourable the Countesse of C.
  
The harmony of Love.
  
To my honoured friend Sir Ed. P. Knight.
  
To CASTARA.
  
To CASTARA.
  
To my noblest Friend, I. C. Esquire.
  
To CASTARA.
  
To his Muse.
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The Funerals of the Honourable, my best friend and Kinsman, GEORGE TALBOT, Esquire.
 1. 
Elegie, 1.
 2. 
Elegie, 2.
 3. 
Elegie, 3.
 4. 
Elegie, 4.
 5. 
Elegie, 5.
 6. 
Elegie, 6.
 7. 
Elegie, 7.
 8. 
Elegie, 8.
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CASTARA:
  
Domine labia mea aperies. DAVID.
  
Versa est in luctum cythara mea. IOB.
  
Perdam Sapientiam Sapientum.
  
Paucitatem dierum meorum nuncia mihi. DAVID.
  
Non nobis Domine. DAVID.
  
Solum mihi superest sepulchrum. IOB.
  
Et fugit velut umbra. IOB.
  
Nox nocti indicat Scientiam. DAVID.
  
Et alta a longè cognoscit. DAVID.
  
Universum stratum ejus versasti in infirmitate ejus. DAVID.
  
Laudate Dominum de cælis. DAVID.
  
Qui quasi flos egreditur.
  
Quid gloriaris in malicia? DAVID.
  
Deus Deus Meus. DAVID.
  
Quoniam ego in flagella paratus sum. DAVID.
  
Militia est vita hominis.
  
Vias tuas Domine demonstra mihi.
  
Et Exaltavit Humiles.
  
Dominus Dominantium.
  
Cogitabo pro peccato meo.
  
Recogitabo tibi omnes annos meos. ISAY.
  
Cupio dissolvi. Paule.
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PROLOGUES, EPILOGUES AND SONGS FROM THE QUEENE OF ARRAGON 1640
  
The Prologue at Court.
  
The Prologue at the Fryers.
  
The Song in the second Act.
  
The Song in the fourth Act.
  
The Epilogue at Court.
  
The Epilogue at the Fryers.
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OTHER POEMS FROM PRINTED BOOKS
  
[Spread faire thou growing Tree, with which in vaine]
  
To his noble Friend, th' Author on his Tragedy of Albouine.
  
To my friend the author.
  
An ELEGIE UPON THE Death of Ben. Johnson, the most Excellent of English Poets
  
To MY FRIEND, Will. Davenant.
  
On Master JOHN FLETCHERS Dramaticall Poems.
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DOUBTFUL POEMS
  
on Castaraes sittinge on Primrose banks
  
upon Castaries and her sisters goinge Afoote in the Snow

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110

Elegie, 8.

[Boast not the rev'rend Vatican, nor all]

Boast not the rev'rend Vatican, nor all
The cunning Pompe of the Escuriall.
Though there both th' Indies met in each smal room,
Th' are short in treasure of this precious tombe.
Here is th' Epitome of wealth, this chest
Is Natures chief Exchequer, hence the East
When it is purified by th' generall fire
Shall see these now pale ashes sparkle higher
Then all the gems she vants: transcending far
In fragrant lustre the bright morning star.
Tis true, they now seeme darke. But rather we
Have by a cataract lost sight, then he
Though dead his glory. So to us blacke night
Brings darkenesse, when the Sun retaines his light.
Thou eclips'd dust! Expecting breake of day
From the thicke mists about thy Tombe, I'le pay
Like the just Larke, the tribute of my verse.
I will invite thee, from thy envious herse
To rise, and 'bout the World thy beames to spread,
That we may see, there's brightnesse in the dead.
My zeale deludes me not. What perfumes come
From th' happy vault? In her sweete martyrdome
The nard breathes never so, nor so the rose
When the enamor'd Spring by kissing blowes
Soft blushes on her cheeke, nor th' early East
Vying with Paradice, ith' Phœnix nest.
These gentle perfumes usher in the day
Which from the night of his discolour'd clay
Breakes on the sudden: for a Soule so bright
Of force must to her earth contribute light.
But if w'are so far blind, we cannot see
The wonder of this truth; yet let us be
Not infidels: nor like dull Atheists give
Our selves so long to lust, till we beleive
111

(T' allay the griefe of sinne) that we shall fall
To a loath'd nothing in our Funerall.
The bad mans death is horror. But the just
Keepes something of his glory in his dust.
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