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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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CASTARA:
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PROLOGUES, EPILOGUES AND SONGS FROM THE QUEENE OF ARRAGON 1640
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OTHER POEMS FROM PRINTED BOOKS
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DOUBTFUL POEMS

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30

Vpon CASTARA'S absence.

T'is madnesse to give Physicke to the dead;
Then leave me friends: Yet haply you'd here read
A lecture; but I'le not dissected be,
T' instruct your Art by my anatomie.
But still you trust your sense, sweare you discry
No difference in me. All's deceit oth' eye,
Some spirit hath a body fram'd in th' ayre,
Like mine, which he doth to delude you weare:
Else heaven by miracle makes me survive
My selfe, to keepe in me poore Love alive.
But I am dead, yet let none question where
My best part rests, and with a sigh or teare,
Prophane the Pompe, when they my corps interre,
My soule imparadis'd, for 'tis with her.
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