The poems of William Habington Edited with introduction and commentary by Kenneth Allott |
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To the right honourable the Earle of SHREWES.
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 | The poems of William Habington |  |
To the right honourable the Earle of SHREWES.
My Muse (great Lord) when last you heard her singDid to your Vncles Vrne, her off'rings bring:
And if to fame I may give faith, your eares
Delighted in the musicke of her teares.
That was her debt to vertue. And when e're
She her bright head among the clouds shall reare,
And adde to th' wondring heavens a new flame,
Shee'le celebrate the Genius of your name.
Wilde with another rage, inspir'd by love,
She charmes the Myrtles of the Idalian grove.
And while she gives the Cyprian stormes a law,
Those wanton Doves which Cythereia draw
Through th' am'rous ayre: Admire what power doth sway
The Ocean, and arrest them in their way.
She sings Castara then. O' she more bright,
Than is the starry Senate of the night;
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Cause they deriv'd no influence from her,
Who's constant as she's chaste. The Sunne hath beene
Clad like a neighb'ring shepheard often seene
To haunt those Dales, in hope then Daphnes, there
To see a brighter face. Th' Astrologer
In th' interim dyed, whose proud Art could not show
Whence that Ecclipse did on the sudden grow.
A wanton Satyre eager in the chase
Of some faire Nimph, beheld Castara's face,
And left his loose pursuite; who while he ey'd,
Vnchastely, such a beauty, glorified
With such a vertue; by heavens great commands,
Turn'd marble, and there yet a Statue stands.
As Poet thus. But as a Christian now,
And by my zeale to you (my Lord) I vow,
She doth a flame so pure and sacred move;
In me impiety 'twere not to love.
| The poems of William Habington | |