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The poems of William Habington

Edited with introduction and commentary by Kenneth Allott

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To the Honourable, G. T.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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To the Honourable, G. T.

Let not thy grones force Eccho from her cave,
Or interrupt her weeping o're that wave,
Which last Narcissus kist: let no darke grove
Be taught to whisper stories of thy love.
What though the wind be turn'd? Canst thou not saile
By vertue of a cleane contrary gale,
Into some other Port? Where thou wilt find,
It was thy better Genius chang'd the wind,
To steere thee to some Iland in the West,
For wealth and pleasure, that transcends thy East.
Though Astrodora, like a sullen starre
Eclipse her selfe: Ith' sky of beauty are

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Ten thousand other fires, some bright as she.
And who with milder beames, may shine on thee.
Nor yet doth this Eclipse beare a portent,
That should affright the world: The firmament
Enjoyes the light it did, a Sunne as cleare,
And the young Spring doth like a Bride appeare,
As fairely wed to the Thessalian grove
As e're it was, though she and you not love.
And we two, who like two bright stars have shin'd
Ith' heaven of friendship, are as firmely joyn'd
As bloud and love first fram'd us. And to be
Lov'd, and thought worthy to be lov'd by thee,
Is to be glorious. Since fame cannot lend
An honour, equals that of Talbots friend.
Nor envie me that my Castara's flame
Yeelds me a constant warmth: Though first I came
To marriage happy Ilands: Seas to thee
Will yeeld as smooth a way, and winds as free.
Which shall conduct thee (if hope may divine);
To this delicious port: and make love thine.