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Was born in 1605, of a Roman Catholic family, and educated
at Paris and St. Omers. His literary accomplishments, and particularly his historical knowledge, recommended him to the favour of Charles I. at whose command he composed his “ Observations on History,” in one volume, 8vo, and a “ History of Edward IV." in which, Wood says, his father, Thomas Habington, had a considerable hand. He also wrote a tragi-comedy called “ The Queen of “ Arragon," 1640; and a small volume of poems under the title of “ Castara.” He died in 1654.
Fine young folly, though you were
Yet you ne'er could touch my heart;
You're not worth the serious part.
When I sigh and kiss your hand,
Holding parley with your eye:
Then dilate on my desires,
All is but a handsome lie.
When I eye your curl or lace,
Therefore, Madam, wear no cloud,
For in sooth, I much do doubt
And your cloaths that set you out.
Yet though truth has this confess'd,
When I next begin to court,
Bedlam! this is pretty sport.
Not the phoenix in his death,
Nor those banks where violets grow,
And Arabian winds still blow,
But, O! marriage, makes the spell,
The twin beauties of the skies,
(When the half-sunk sailors haste
To rend sail and cut their mast)
But those beams, than storms more black,
Then for fear of such a fire,
Which kills worse than the long night
Which benumbs the Moscovite, I must from
life retire. But, oh no, for if her eye Warm me not, I freeze and die.
THE DESCRIPTION OF CASTARA.
(Abridged from 7 stanzas.]
Like the violet, which alone
Prospers in some happy shade, My Castara lives unknown,
To no looser eye betray'd ; For she's to herself untrue, Who delights i' th' public view.
Such is her beauty, as no arts
Have enrich'd with borrow'd grace ; Her high birth no pride imparts,
For she blushes in her place. Folly boasts a glorious blood :She is noblest, being good.
She her throne makes reason climb,
While wild passions captive lie;
Her pure thoughts to heaven fly.
OF TRUE DELIGHT.
Why doth the ear so tempt the voice
That cunningly divides the air? Why doth the palate buy the choice
Delights o'th' sea t enrich her fare?
As soon as I my ear obey,
The echo's lost ev'n with the breath; And when the sewer takes away,
I'm left with no more taste than death,
Be curious in pursuit of eyes,
To procreate new loves with thine ; Satiety makes sense despise
What superstition thought divine.
Quick fancy how it mocks delight!
As we conceive things are not such: The glow-worm is as warm as bright,
Till the deceitful flame we touch.
The rose yields her sweet blandishment,
Lost in the folds of lovers' wreaths :