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WILLIAM HABINGTON,

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.

SONG.

Fine young folly, though you were
That fair beauty I did swear,

Yet you ne'er could touch my heart;
For we courtiers learn at school,
Only with your sex to fool -

You're not worth the serious part.

When I sigh and kiss your hand,
Cross my arms, and wond’ring stand,

Holding parley with your eye:

Then dilate on my desires,
Swear the sun ne'er shot such fires,

All is but a handsome lie.

When I eye your curl or lace,
Gentle soul, you

think
your

face
Straight some murder doth commit;
And your virtue doth begin
To grow scrupulous of my sin,
When I talk to shew

my

wit.

Therefore, Madam, wear no cloud,
Nor to check my love grow proud,

For in sooth, I much do doubt
'Tis the powder on your hair,
Not your breath, perfumes the air,

And your cloaths that set you out.

Yet though truth has this confess'd,
And I vow, I love in jest,

When I next begin to court,
And protest an amorous flame,
You will swear I in earnest am,

Bedlam! this is pretty sport.

SONG.

Not the phoenix in his death,

Nor those banks where violets grow,

And Arabian winds still blow,
Yield a perfume like her breath.

But, O! marriage, makes the spell,
And 'tis poison if I smell.

The twin beauties of the skies,

(When the half-sunk sailors haste

To rend sail and cut their mast)
Shine not welcome as her eyes;

But those beams, than storms more black,
If they point at me, I wrack.

Then for fear of such a fire,

Which kills worse than the long night

Which benumbs the Moscovite, I must from

my

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.

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She her throne makes reason climb,

While wild passions captive lie;
And, each article of time,

Her pure thoughts to heaven fly.
All her vows religious be,
And her love she vows to me.

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 :

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