The poems of William Habington Edited with introduction and commentary by Kenneth Allott |
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 | OTHER POEMS FROM PRINTED BOOKS |
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 | The poems of William Habington |  |
154
OTHER POEMS FROM PRINTED BOOKS
[Spread faire thou growing Tree, with which in vaine]
Spread faire thou growing Tree, with which in vaineThe windes do wrastle: Blemish'd with the staine
Of impure life, some by Atheisticke rimes,
And witty surfeits, force these ruder times
To fond amazement; but thy faire defence
Rests in cleare Arte, and secure Innocence.
As thou, thy Muse is chast, on which no Rape
Was ere by thee committed. Learnings Ape
Is franticke imitation; and the Bough
That Crownes such Writers, withers on their brow:
I gratulate thy Wedding; Loue doth guide
My friendly Muse, thus to salute thy Bride.
William Habington.
155
To his noble Friend, th' Author on his Tragedy of Albouine.
The gelid North growes warme, and by thy fireCold ignorance exil'd. The Virgin Quire
O' th' soft-hayr'd Muses leaue the Thespian Spring,
To tread a fun'rall Measure, whilst you sing
This Tragick Storie. With sad plaints of loue
Fam'd Orpheus charm'd rude heapes, did Cedars mooue,
Forc'd Mountaines from their station: but thy Pen
Hath now amaz'd the firie soules of men.
Will: Habington.
To my friend the author.
My name is free, and my rich clothes commendNo deformd bounty of a looser friend,
Nor am I warme i'th Sunshine of great men
By guilding their darke sinnes, truth guides my pen.
Bright iustice therefore bold by me, doth say
Mans vnderstanding feeles no such decay
But it may iudge, and while the soule of wit
Liues bodied in the stage, spectator sit:
Old nature's euer young, and 'twere a crime
Gainst reason, to auerre our aged time
Is sicke with dotage: which doth still impart
To'th betterd world new miracles of art.
I must applaude thy scenes, and hope thy Stile
Will make Arabia enuious of our Ile,
Confesse vs happy since th'ast giuen a name
To the English Phenix, which by thy great flame
Will liue, in spight of mallice to delight
Our Nation, doing art and nature right.
156
Whose English, staines the greeke and latine lires,
Diuinest Ionson, liue to make vs see
The glory of the stage reuiu'd in thee.
William Habington.
An ELEGIE UPON THE Death of Ben. Johnson, the most Excellent of English Poets
What doth officious Fancie here prepare?
Be't rather this rich Kingdoms charge & care
To find a Virgin quarrie whence no hand,
E're wrought a Tombe on vulgar Dust to stand,
And thence bring for this worke Materials fit,
Great Johnson needs no Architect of Wit;
Who forc'd from Art, receiv'd from Nature more
Then doth survive Him, or e're liv'd before.
Be't rather this rich Kingdoms charge & care
To find a Virgin quarrie whence no hand,
E're wrought a Tombe on vulgar Dust to stand,
And thence bring for this worke Materials fit,
Great Johnson needs no Architect of Wit;
Who forc'd from Art, receiv'd from Nature more
Then doth survive Him, or e're liv'd before.
And Poets, with what veile so'ere you hide
Your aime, 'twill not be thought your griefe, but pride
Which that your Cypresse never growth might want,
Did it neere his eternall Lawrell plant.
Your aime, 'twill not be thought your griefe, but pride
Which that your Cypresse never growth might want,
Did it neere his eternall Lawrell plant.
Heaven at the death of Princes, by the birth
Of some new starre, seemes to instruct the Earth,
How it resents our humane Fate. Then why
Didst thou Wits most triumphant Monarch dye
Without thy Comet? Did the Skye despaire
To teeme a Fire, bright as thy glories were?
Or is it by its Age, unfruitfull growne,
And can produce no light, but what is knowne,
A common Mourner, when a Princes fall
Invites a Starre t'attend the Funerall?
But those prodigious Sights onely create
Talke for the Vulgar, Heaven before thy Fate,
That thou thy selfe might'st thy owne Dirges heare,
Made the sad stage close mourner for a yeere;
The stage, (which as by an instinct divine,
Instructed, seeing it's owne Fate in Thine,
And knowing how it owed it's life to Thee)
Prepar'd it selfe thy Sepulcher to be,
And had continued so, but that Thy Wit,
Which as the Soule, first animated it,
Still hovers here below, and nere shall dye,
Till Time be buried in eternity.
Of some new starre, seemes to instruct the Earth,
How it resents our humane Fate. Then why
Didst thou Wits most triumphant Monarch dye
Without thy Comet? Did the Skye despaire
To teeme a Fire, bright as thy glories were?
Or is it by its Age, unfruitfull growne,
And can produce no light, but what is knowne,
A common Mourner, when a Princes fall
Invites a Starre t'attend the Funerall?
But those prodigious Sights onely create
Talke for the Vulgar, Heaven before thy Fate,
157
Made the sad stage close mourner for a yeere;
The stage, (which as by an instinct divine,
Instructed, seeing it's owne Fate in Thine,
And knowing how it owed it's life to Thee)
Prepar'd it selfe thy Sepulcher to be,
And had continued so, but that Thy Wit,
Which as the Soule, first animated it,
Still hovers here below, and nere shall dye,
Till Time be buried in eternity.
But You! whose Comicke labours on the stage,
Against the envy of a froward age
Hold combat! How will now your Vessels saile,
The Seas so broken and the winds so fraile,
Such Rocks, such shallowes threatning every where,
And Iohnson dead, whose Art your course might steare?
Against the envy of a froward age
Hold combat! How will now your Vessels saile,
The Seas so broken and the winds so fraile,
Such Rocks, such shallowes threatning every where,
And Iohnson dead, whose Art your course might steare?
Looke up! where Seneca, and Sophocles,
Quicke Plautus, and sharpe Aristophanes,
Enlighten yon bright Orbe! Doth not your eye,
Among them, one farre larger fire, descry,
At which their lights grow pale? 'tis Iohnson, there
He shines your Starre who was your Pilot here.
W. Abington.
Quicke Plautus, and sharpe Aristophanes,
Enlighten yon bright Orbe! Doth not your eye,
Among them, one farre larger fire, descry,
At which their lights grow pale? 'tis Iohnson, there
He shines your Starre who was your Pilot here.
To MY FRIEND, Will. Davenant.
I crouded 'mongst the first, to see the Stage
(Inspir'd by thee) strike wonder in our Age,
By thy bright fancie dazled: Where each Sceane
Wrought like a charme, and forc't the Audience leane
To th' passion of thy Pen: Thence Ladies went
(Whose absence Lovers sigh'd for) to repent
Their unkind scorne; And Courtiers, who by art
Made love before, with a converted hart,
To wed those Virgins, whom they woo'd t'abuse;
Both renderd Hymen's pros'lits by thy Muse.
(Inspir'd by thee) strike wonder in our Age,
By thy bright fancie dazled: Where each Sceane
Wrought like a charme, and forc't the Audience leane
To th' passion of thy Pen: Thence Ladies went
(Whose absence Lovers sigh'd for) to repent
Their unkind scorne; And Courtiers, who by art
Made love before, with a converted hart,
158
Both renderd Hymen's pros'lits by thy Muse.
But others who were proofe 'gainst Love, did sit
To learne the subtle Dictats of thy Wit;
And as each profited, tooke his degree,
Master, or Batchelor, in Comedie.
Who on the Stage, though since they venter'd not,
Yet on some Lord, or Lady, had their plot
Of gaine, or favour: Ev'ry nimble jest
They spake of thine, b'ing th' entrance to a Feast
Or neerer whisper: Most thought fit to be
So farre concluded Wits, as they knew thee.
To learne the subtle Dictats of thy Wit;
And as each profited, tooke his degree,
Master, or Batchelor, in Comedie.
Who on the Stage, though since they venter'd not,
Yet on some Lord, or Lady, had their plot
Of gaine, or favour: Ev'ry nimble jest
They spake of thine, b'ing th' entrance to a Feast
Or neerer whisper: Most thought fit to be
So farre concluded Wits, as they knew thee.
But here the Stage thy limit was. Kings may
Find proud ambition humbled at the sea,
Which bounds dominion: But the nobler flight
Of Poesie, hath a supremer right
To Empire, and extends her large command
Where ere th' invading Sea assaults the land.
Find proud ambition humbled at the sea,
Which bounds dominion: But the nobler flight
Of Poesie, hath a supremer right
To Empire, and extends her large command
Where ere th' invading Sea assaults the land.
Ev'n Madagascar (which so oft hath been
Like a proud Virgin tempted, yet still seen
Th' Enemy Court the Wind for flight) doth lie
A trophie now of thy Wits Victorie:
Nor yet disdaines destruction to her state,
Encompast with thy Laurell in her fate.
William Habington.
Like a proud Virgin tempted, yet still seen
Th' Enemy Court the Wind for flight) doth lie
A trophie now of thy Wits Victorie:
Nor yet disdaines destruction to her state,
Encompast with thy Laurell in her fate.
On Master JOHN FLETCHERS Dramaticall Poems.
Great tutelary Spirit of the Stage!FLETCHER I can fix nothing but my rage
Before thy Workes, 'gainst their officious crime
Who print thee now, in the worst scæne of Time.
For me, uninterrupted hadst thou slept
Among the holly shades and close hadst kept
The mistery of thy lines, till men might bee
Taught how to reade, and then, how to reade thee.
159
Revive then (mighty Soule!) and vindicate
From th' Ages rude affronts thy injured fame,
Instruct the Envious, with how chast a flame
Thou warmst the Lover; how severely just
Thou wert to punish, if he burnt to lust.
With what a blush thou didst the Maid adorne,
But tempted, with how innocent a scorne.
How Epidemick errors by thy Play
Were laught out of esteeme, so purg'd away.
How to each sence thou so didst vertue fit,
That all grew vertuous to be thought t'have wit.
But this was much too narrow for thy art,
Thou didst frame governments, give Kings their part,
Teach them how neere to God, while just they be;
But how dissolv'd, stretcht forth to Tyrannie.
How Kingdomes, in their channell, safely run,
But rudely overflowing are undone.
Though vulgar spirits Poets scorne or hate:
Man may beget, A Poet can create.
Will. Habington.
| The poems of William Habington | |