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,
Inquiring why I loved her.
Why doth the stubborne iron prove
So gentle to th' magnetique stone?
How know you that the orbs doe move;
With musicke too? since heard of none?
And I will answer why I love.
So gentle to th' magnetique stone?
How know you that the orbs doe move;
With musicke too? since heard of none?
And I will answer why I love.
'Tis not thy vertues, each a starre
Which in thy soules bright spheare doe shine,
Shooting their beauties from a farre,
To make each gazers heart like thine;
Our vertues often Meteors are.
Which in thy soules bright spheare doe shine,
Shooting their beauties from a farre,
To make each gazers heart like thine;
Our vertues often Meteors are.
'Tis not thy face. I cannot spie
When Poëts weepe some Virgins death,
That Cupid wantons in her eye,
Or perfumes vapour from her breath,
And 'mongst the dead thou once must lie.
When Poëts weepe some Virgins death,
That Cupid wantons in her eye,
Or perfumes vapour from her breath,
And 'mongst the dead thou once must lie.
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Nor is't thy birth. For I was ne're
So vaine as in that to delight:
Which, ballance it, no weight doth beare,
Nor yet is object to the sight,
But onely fils the vulgar eare.
So vaine as in that to delight:
Which, ballance it, no weight doth beare,
Nor yet is object to the sight,
But onely fils the vulgar eare.
Nor yet thy fortunes: Since I know
They in their motion like the Sea:
Ebbe from the good, to the impious flow:
And so in flattery betray,
That raising they but overthrow.
They in their motion like the Sea:
Ebbe from the good, to the impious flow:
And so in flattery betray,
That raising they but overthrow.
And yet these attributes might prove
Fuell enough t' enflame desire;
But there was something from above,
Shot without reasons guide, this fire.
I know, yet know not, why I love.
Fuell enough t' enflame desire;
But there was something from above,
Shot without reasons guide, this fire.
I know, yet know not, why I love.
| The poems of William Habington | |