Chapter I: Part 1

Transcriber's Note

Archaic, dialectical and other spellings not in current usage have been left as in the original book. Obvious misprints have been fixed. Details of the changes appear at the end of the text.

ENGLISH REPRINTS

WILLIAM HABINGTON

Castara

THE THIRD EDITION OF 1640; EDITED AND
COLLATED WITH THE EARLIER ONES
OF 1634, 1635

EDITED BY

EDWARD ARBER

F.S.A. ETC. LATE EXAMINER IN ENGLISH
LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE
TO THE UNIVERSITY OF
LONDON

WESTMINSTER
A. CONSTABLE AND CO.
1895

CONTENTS

PAGE

INTRODUCTION, 3

BIBLIOGRAPHY, with FIRST LINES, etc., of the three first
editions, showing the growth of the work, 5

CASTARA. The first Part, 9

(1) THE AUTHOR, 11
(2) GEORGE TALBOT, To his best friend and Kinsman
_William Habington_, Esquire, 14
(3) A CHARACTER. _A Mistress_, 15
(4) FIFTY-SEVEN Poems, chiefly on Love and Courtship, 17

CASTARA. The second Part, 55

(1) A CHARACTER. _A Wife_, 57
(2) FIFTY Poems, chiefly on Wedded Happiness, 59
(3) A CHARACTER. _A Friend_, 99
(4) EIGHT Elegies, _The Funerals of the Honourable my
best friend and Kinsman_, GEORGE TALBOT, Esquire, 101

CASTARA. The third Part, 111

(1) A CHARACTER. _A Holy Man_, 112
(2) TWENTY-TWO Poems, chiefly Sacred, with Scripture
Texts, 115

_INTRODUCTION._

The old English family of HABINGDON, ABINGDON, HABINGTON, or ABINGTON traced their pedigree beyond the reign of Henry III., to PHILIP DE HABINGTON, of Abingdon, co. Cambridge: but that branch of the family from which our Poet sprang, descended from RICHARD HABINGTON, of Brokhampton, whose _third_ son JOHN was coifferer to Queen Elizabeth. This JOHN HABINGTON, our Poet's grand-father, bought Hindlip Hall, an estate beautifully situated about four miles from Worcester. He married twice. By his second wife he had two sons, THOMAS; and EDWARD, who was executed for Babington's plot in 1586.

Anthony-a-Wood gives this account of THOMAS HABINGTON. He 'was born at Thorpe near to Chertsey in Surrey, on the 23 Aug. 1560, (at which time and before the manor thereof belonged to his father) and at about 16 years of age he became a commoner of Lincoln Coll. Where spending about three years in academicall studies, was taken thence by his father and sent to the universities of Paris and Rheimes in France. After some time spent there in good letters, he return'd into England, and expressing and shewing himself an adherent to Mary qu. of Scots (who plotted with Anth. Babington against qu. Elizabeth) was committed prisoner to the Tower of London, where continuing six years, he profited more in that time in several sorts of learning, then he had before in all his life. Afterwards he retired to Hendlip (the manor of which his father had settled upon him) took to wife Mary the eldest daughter of Edward lord Morley by Elizabeth his wife, daughter and sole heir of Sir William Stanley knight, lord Mounteagle; and at riper years survey'd Worcestershire, made a collection of most of its antiquities from records, registers, evidences both private and public, monumental inscriptions and arms.... At length, after he had lived to the age of 87 years, surrendred up his pious soul to God at Hendlip near Worcester on the 8th October 1647, and was buried by his father in a vault under the chancel of the church there.' _Ath. Oxon. iii. 222. Ed. 1817._

Hindlip Hall was full of lurking places. T. NASH in his _Hist. of Worc. i._ 585-7, gives a transcript of _Ashmole's MSS. Vol._ 804, _fol._ 93, at Oxford: which is a most graphic description of a search, _for eleven nights and twelve days_, in Jan. 1605, through the house: wherein Garnett the Jesuit and others were discovered, who were afterwards executed.

2. THOMAS HABINGTON = MARY PARKER, d. of Lord MORLEY.
b. 1560--d. 1647. æt. 87. | [Mary Habington is said to have written
| the letter revealing the Gunpowder Plot.]
+-------------+-------------+--------------------------+
| | |
WILLIAM = LUCY HERBERT. d. MARY = W. COMPTON. and other
b. 1605-d. 1654.| Lord POWIS. | children.
+------------+--+ |
| | W. Compton. d. 1731,
THOMAS. CATHERINE = Osborne. made a Bart. 6 May
d. unmarried. | 1686.
He left Hindlip +--+---+
estate to Sir W. | |
Compton, Bart. Lucy. Eleanor.

3. Wood's account of our Poet is perhaps the most authentic. "WILLIAM HABINGTON, was born at Hendlip, on the fourth [So have I been instructed by letters from his son Tho. Habington esq.: dated 5 Jan. 1672.] (some say the fifth) day of November 1605, educated in S. Omers and Paris; in the first of which he was earnestly invited to take upon him the habit of the Jesuits, but by excuses got free and left them. After his return from Paris, being then at man's estate, he was instructed at home in matters of history by his father, and became an accomplished gentleman.... This person, Will. Habington, who did then run with the times, and was not unknown [what does Wood mean by this?] to Oliver the usurper, died on the 30th of November 1654, and was buried in the vault before-mentioned by the bodies of his father and grand-father. The MSS. which he (and his father) left behind, are in the hands of his son Thomas, and might be made useful for the public, if in others."--_Ath. Oxon. iii. 223. Ed. 1817._

4. The Habingtons were connected with the Talbots through the above RICHARD HABINGTON'S second son RICHARD HABINGTON, whose grand-daughter ELEANOR BASKERVILLE married JOHN TALBOT of Longdon: and became the mother of (1) JOHN, Lord TALBOT 10th Earl of SHREWSBURY, who succeeded his bachelor uncle GEORGE TALBOT, the 9th Earl (lamented by our Poet at _p._ 77) on his death, 2d April 1630: (2) of GEORGE TALBOT, our author's bosom friend, who died young and unmarried; and of other children.

5. The second son of the Earl of PEMBROKE, Sir WILLIAM HERBERT, was created on 2d April 1629, 1st Baron POWIS. He had three children by ELEANOR, youngest daughter of HENRY PERCY, 10th Earl of NORTHUMBERLAND, Sir PERCY HERBERT, CATHERINE HERBERT, and LUCY HERBERT. This Lucy Herbert is _Castara_.

6. A concurrence of allusions would seem to fix Habington's marriage with Lucy Herbert, between 1630 and 1633: later than which it cannot be: as the anniversary of his wedding day is celebrated in verse, at _p._ 80. Most of the poems relate to

'those of my blood
And my _Castara's_.'

There is in their arrangement, a slight thread of continuity. We are to realize the young Englishman, of good family, possibly not unhandsome, wooing--with a culture and grace acquired in France--the young English beauty: possibly under some disadvantage, being neither possessed of high station nor large fortune; and the lady's father too having just been made a Peer. The wooing beginning in town migrates to Marlow.

See, he from _Marlow_ sends
His eyes to _Seymours_. _p._ 41.

The lovers meeting 'under the kind shade of this tree' is noticed. In sum, the details of a pure courtship leading up to a happy marriage.

In "_Wits Recreations_, Selected [by the bookseller Humphry Blunden] from the Finest Fancies of Moderne Muses. London, 1640:" is the following.

19. _To Mr William Habington on his Castara, a Poem._
Thy Muse is chaste and thy _Castara_ too,
'Tis strange at Court, and thou hadst power to woo
And to obtain (what others were deny'd)
The fair _Castara_ for thy vertuous bride:
Enjoy what you dare wish, and may there be,
Fair issues branch from both, to honor thee.

Again, the after incidents of life are alluded to, in the poems; _Castara_ has a fever but she recovers, she mourns over the loss of friends, and the like: while, the brightness and fancifulness of this earlier poesy but reflect the happiness of the Poet's home.

7. There are also songs of Friendship. As where he reproaches his bosom friend Talbot for not having seen him for three days, at _p._ 39, or where he consoles him for the hard usage he has received from that jilt _Astrodora_, at _p._ 82: and most of all, in the eight passionate Elegies over his decease.

8. Occasionally there is a bit of lashing satire, as that against the cravings of Poets, at _p._ 50: or of dry humour, as in

Come therefore blest even in the Lollards zeale
Who canst with conscience safe, 'fore hen and veale
Say grace in Latine, while I faintly sing
A Penitentiall verse in oyle and Ling. _p._ 64.

9. Lastly: strangely intermingled are Requiems over the mortality of Man, the vanity and uncertainty of all things; leading almost to a disgust with life. Of this he thus gives the key-note in saying at _p._ 114, 'When the necessities of nature returne him downe to earth, he esteemes it a place he is condemned to.... To live he knows a benefit, and the contempt of it ingratitude, and therefore loves, but not doates on life.' To this frame of thought may be opposed the keen wise saying of a great contemporary: Selden.

"Whilst you are upon Earth enjoy the good things that are here (to that end were they given) and be not melancholly, and wish yourself in Heaven. If a King should give you the keeping of a Castle, with all things belonging to it, Orchards, Gardens, &_c._, and bid you use them; withal promise you that after twenty years to remove you to Court, and to make you a Privy Councellor. If you should neglect your Castle, and refuse to eat of those fruits, and sit down, and whine, and wish you were a Privy Councellor, do you think the King would be pleased with you?"--_Table Talk, p. 84. Ed. 1867._

Our wisdom is to recognise the representations of Habington, and to live in the spirit of Selden: thus 'using the world as not abusing it.'

* * * * *

William Habington's works were published in the following order:--

1634. _Castara._ First edition in 4to.

1635. _Castara._ Second edition in 12mo.

1639-40. _Castara._ Third edition in 12mo.

1640. _The Historie of Edward the Fourth, King of England._ By
Wm. Habington Esquire. London. Fol.
'Written and published as the desire of K. Charles I.':
in which his father also 'had a considerable hand.'

1640. _The Queene of Arragon._ A Tragi-Comedie. London. 1640.
'Which play he communicating to Philip earl of
Pembroke, lord chamberlain of the houshold to K.
Charles I. he caused it to be acted at court, and
afterwards to be published against the author's will.'
_Wood_: _idem._ It was revived at the Restoration: with
a Prologue and Epilogue by S. BUTLER. _Remains_, i.
185. Ed. by Thyer, 1759. It is reprinted in Dodsley's
_Old Plays, ix._ 333. _Ed._ 1825.

1641. _Observations upon Historie._ London.
These historical notes are six in number, upon as many
points in modern History: as the death of Richard I;
the battle of Varna, 1444; the fall of Constantinople;
the abdication of Charles V.; &c.

_BIBLIOGRAPHY._

With FIRST LINES, &c. of the three first editions, showing the growth of the work.

(a) ISSUES IN THE AUTHOR'S LIFETIME.

I. _As a separate publication._

1. "=CASTARA=, &c. LONDON, Printed by _Anne Griffin_ for _William
Cooke_, and are to be sold at his shop neare _Furnivals Inne_
gate in Holburne. 1634. 4to."

Perfectly anonymous: all names being represented by initials. It consists of only two Parts, each having a separate title page; in which Parts are contained the following:

_CASTARA._ THE FIRST PART. PAGE

i. The Author. [A Prose Preface] 11
ii. G[EORGE] T[ALBOT]. Not in the silence of content, and store 14
iii. FIFTY-THREE Poems, by WILLIAM HABINGTON.
1. Let the chaste Phœnix from the flowry East, 17
2. I saw _Castara_ pray, and from the skie, 17
3. Yee blushing Virgins happie are 18
4. By those chaste lamps which yeeld a silent light 18
5. Where am I? not in heaven: for oh I feele 19
6. Not still ith' shine of Kings. Thou dost retire 19
7. Doe not their prophane Orgies heare, 20
8. Sing forth sweete Cherubin (for we have choice 21
9. In vaine faire sorceresse, thy eyes speake charmes, 22
10. While you dare trust the loudest tongue of fame, 22
11. Why doth the stubborne iron prove 23
12. Transfix me with that flaming dart 24
13. Wing'd with delight (yet such as still doth beare 25
14. Learned shade of _Tycho Brache_, who to us, 26
15. Ye glorious wits, who finde then Parian stone 26
16. If she should dye, (as well suspect we may, 27
17. You younger children of your father stay, 27
18. Fond Love himselfe hopes to disguise 28
19. FEARE. Checke thy forward thoughts, and know 28
20. Nimble boy in thy warme flight, 29
21. _Cupids_ dead, who would not dye, 30
22. Fly on thy swiftest wing, ambitious Fame, 30
23. ARAPHILL. Dost not thou _Castara_ read 31
24. Why haste you hence _Castara_? Can the earth, 32
25. I am engag'd to sorrow, and my heart 33
26. Th' Arabian wind, whose breathing gently blows 33
27. Looke backe _Castara_. From thy eye 33
28. Tis madnesse to give physicke to the dead; 34
29. The lesser people of the ayre conspire 34
30. Swift in thy watry chariot, courteous _Thames_, 35
31. My Muse (great Lord) when last you heard her sing 35
32. Thankes _Cupid_, but the Coach of _Venus_ moves 36
33. How fancie mockes me? By th' effect I prove, 37
34. Faire Mistresse of the earth, with garlands crown'd, 37
35. With your calme precepts goe, and lay a storme, 38
36. Tis I _Castara_, who when thou wert gone, 38
37. Pronounce me guilty of a Blacker crime, 39
38. Thrice hath the pale-fac'd Empresse of the night, 39
39. Scorn'd in thy watry Urne _Narcissus_ lye, 40
40. Banisht from you, I charg'd the nimble winde, 40
41. Blest Temple, haile, where the Chast Altar stands, 41
42. Bright Dew which dost the field adorne 41
43. Stay under the kinde shadow of this tree 42
44. Dare not too farre _Castara_, for the shade 43
45. Vowes are vaine. No suppliant breath 43
46. Night. Let silence close my troubled eyes, 44
47. Your judgement's cleere, not wrinckled with the Time, 45
48. What should we feare _Castara_? The coole aire, 46
49. More welcome my _Castara_, then was light 46
50. Why dost thou looke so pale, decrepit man? 52
51. T'was Night: when _Phœbe_ guided by thy rayes, 52
52. Why would you blush _Castara_, when the name 53
53. Like the Violet which alone 53

_CASTARA._ THE SECOND PART.

iv. THIRTY-SIX more Poems.
54. This day is ours. The marriage Angell now 59
55. Did you not see, _Castara_, when the King 59
56. Whose whispers soft as those which lovers breath 60
57. Forsake me not so soone. _Castara_ stay, 61
58. Hence prophane grim man, nor dare 61
59. Sleepe my _Castara_, silence doth invite 62
60. She is restor'd to life. Unthrifty Death, 62
61. May you drinke beare, or that adult'rate wine 63
62. _Castara_ whisper in some dead mans eare, 64
63. Forsake with me the earth, my faire, 64
64. _Castara_ weepe not, though her tombe appeare 65
65. What's death more than departure; the dead go 67
66. _Castara!_ O you are too prodigall 67
67. I heard a sigh, and something in my eare 68
68. You saw our loves, and prais'd the mutuall flame 68
69. Why should we build, _Castara_, in the aire 69
70. _Castara_, see that dust, the sportive wind 70
71. Were but that sigh a penitentiall breath 70
72. ARAPHILL. _Castara_ you too fondly court 71
73. My thoughts are not so rugged, nor doth earth 72
74. Tyrant o're tyrants, thou who onely dost 73
75. The breath of time shall blast the flowry Spring, 73
76. The reverend man by magicke of his prayer 74
77. Thy vowes are heard, and thy _Castara's_ name 75
78. Thou dreame of madmen, ever changing gale, 75
79. Were we by fate throwne downe below our feare 76
80. What can the freedome of our love enthrall? 76
81. Bright Saint, thy pardon, if my sadder verse 77
82. I like the greene plush which your meadows weare 78
83. Thou art return'd (great Light) to that blest houre 80
84. They meet but with unwholesome Springs 80
85. The Laurell doth your reverend temples wreath 81
86. 'Bout th' husband Oke, the Vine 82
87. Let not thy grones force Eccho from her cave, 82
88. We saw and woo'd each others eyes 83
89. Here Virgin fix thy pillars, and command 98

2. "_CASTARA_, &c. The Second Edition. Corrected and Augmented.
London. Printed by _B. A._ and _T. F._ for _Will. Cooke_, and
are to bee sold at his shop neare _Furnivals-Inne_ Gate in
_Holburne_, 1635. 12mo."

In this second edition, the authorship is avowed by means of a new heading to G. Talbot's poem, at _p._ 14. It still consists of but two Parts, each with a separate title: but is augmented by three Characters in prose and twenty-six poems; all by Habington.

_CASTARA._ THE FIRST PART.

i. A CHARACTER. _A Mistris._ 15
ii. FOUR additional poems are inserted.
90. Hee who is good is happy. Let the loude 47
91. Harke, how the traytor winde doth court 49
92. It shall not grieve me (friend) though what I write 50
93. You who are earth, and cannot rise 51

_CASTARA._ THE SECOND PART.

iii. A CHARACTER. _A Wife._ 57
iv. FOURTEEN additional Poems.
94. Though my deare _Talbots_ Fate exact, a sad 84
95. If your example be obey'd 86
96. Its false Arithmaticke to say thy breath 88
97. Why should we feare to melt away in death 89
98. When _Pelion_ wondring saw, that raine which fell 89
99. O whither dost thou flye? Cannot my vow 90
100. Where sleepes the North-wind when the South inspires 90
101. Should the cold _Muscovit_, whose furre and stove 91
102. _Amphion_, O thou holy shade 92
103. You'd leave the silence in which safe we are 92
104. Give me a heart where no impure 94
105. Why doth the eare so tempt the voyce, 95
106. I hate the Countries durt and manners, yet 96
107. I wonder when w'are dead, what men will say; 97
v. A CHARACTER. _A Friend._
vi. EIGHT Elegies "_The Funerals of the Honourable, my best
Friend and Kinsman_, GEORGE TALBOT, Esq." 101
108. (1) Twere malice to the fame; to weepe alone 101
109. (2) _Talbot_ is dead. Like lightning which no part 102
110. (3) Let me contemplate thee (faire soule) and though 103
111. (4) My name, dear friend, even thy expiring breath 104
112. (5) Chast as the Nuns first vow, as fairely bright 105
113. (6) Goe stop the swift-wing'd moments in their flight 107
114. (7) There is no peace in sinne. Æternall war 108
115. (8) Boast not the rev'rend Vatican, nor all 109

3. 1640. Third Edition in 12mo: with Titles, Characters, and Poems arranged in the order here reprinted. For titles, see _pp._ 9, 55, 111. There are no further additions to the first two parts: but there is added an entire Third Part.

_CASTARA._ THIRD PART.

i. A CHARACTER. _The Holy Man._ 112
ii. TWENTY-TWO Poems, chiefly Sacred, with mottoes from the Vulgate.
We have here given the equivalent passages in the Authorized version:
inserting between [] the Douay version! where it more closely follows
the Latin of the Vulgate.
116. _O Lord, open thou my lips._ Ps. li. 15. No monument of me
remaine 115
117. _My harp also is turned to mourning._ Job xxx. 31. Love! I
no orgies sing 116
118. _I will destroy the wisdom of the wise._ 1 Cor. i. 19.
Forgive my envie to the World; while I 118
119. [_Declare unto me the fewnes of my days_, Douay]. _He
shortened my days._ Ps. cii. 23. Tell me O great All
knowing God 119
120. _Not unto us, O Lord._ Ps. cxv. 1. No marble statue, nor
high 120
121. _The graves are ready for me._ Job xvii. 1. Welcome thou
safe retreate! 121
122. _He fleeth also as a shadow._ Job xiv. 2. What shadow your
faire body made 122
123. _Night unto night sheweth knowledge._ Ps. xix. 2. When I
survay the bright 124
124. _But the proud he knoweth afar off._ Ps. cxxxviii. 6. To
the cold humble hermitage 125
125. _Thou wilt make all his bed in his sickness._ Ps. xli. 3.
My Soule! When thou and I 126
126. _Praise ye the Lord from the heavens._ Ps. cxlviii. 1. You
Spirits! who have throwne away 127
127. _He cometh forth like a flower._ Job xiv. 2. Faire Madame:
you 129
128. _Why boasteth thou thyself in mischief._ Ps. lii. 1. Swell
no more, proud man, so high! 130
129. _My God, my God._ Ps. xxii. 1. There is that foole
Philosophie 131
130. [_For I am ready for scourges_, Douay]. _For I am ready to
halt._ Ps. xxxviii. 17. Fix me on some bleake precipice 133
131. [_The life of man upon earth is a warfare_, Douay]. _Is
there not an appointed time to man upon earth._ Job vii.
1. Were it your appetite of glory, (which 134
132. _Shew me thy ways, O Lord._ Ps. xxv. 4. Where have I
wandred? In what way 136
133. _And exalteth them of low degree._ Luke i. 52. How
cheerefully th' unpartiall Sunne 138
134. _Lord of Lords._ Deut. x. 17. Supreame Divinity! Who yet 139
135. _I will be sorry for my sin._ Ps. xxxviii. 18. In what
darke silent grove 140
136. _I shall go softly all my years._ Is. xxxviii. 15. Time!
where didst thou those years inter 142
137. _Having a desire to depart._ Phil. i. 23. The soule which
doth with God unite 143

II. _With other Works._

None.

(b) ISSUES SINCE THE AUTHOR'S DEATH.

I. _As a separate publication._

6. 14 April 1870. London. 1 vol. 8vo. _English Reprints_: see title
at _p._ 1. This Edition follows No. 3 as to the arrangement of
the Poems, &c.: but has been corrected with the earlier editions;
when ever in spelling or punctuation the former were the better
readings. In doubtful cases, the earlier variations are shown in
footnotes.

5. [1812.] Bristol. 1 vol. 8vo. "Habington's _Castara_, with a
preface and notes by CHARLES A. ELTON." [A reprint of No. 3.]

II. _With other Works._

4. London. 1810. 21 vols. 8vo. _The Works of the English Poets._ Ed.
by A. CHALMERS, F.S.A. Vol. iv. 437-482 contains a Reprint of No.
3.

III. _Selections, &c._

One or more of these Poems will be found in the Selections of Ellis, H. Headley, _The Lyre of Love_, E. Sandford's _British Poets_, &c. &c.

CASTARA:

--_Carmina non prius
Audita, Musarum facerdos
Virginibus._--

The third Edition.
Corrected and augmented

_LONDON_

Printed by _T. Cotes_, for _Will.
Cooke_: and are to be sold at his
Shop neere _Fernivals-Inne_ Gate
in _Holburne_. 1640.

_The Author._

The Presse hath gathered into one, what fancie had scattered in many loose papers. To write this, love stole some houres from businesse, and my more serious study. For though Poetry may challenge if not priority, yet equality with the best Sciences, both for antiquity and worth; I never set so high a rate upon it, as to give my selfe entirely up to its devotion. It hath too much ayre, and (if without offence to our next transmarine neighbour,) [1]wantons too much according to the French garbe. And when it is wholly imployed in the soft straines of love, his soule who entertaines it, loseth much of that strength which should confirme him man. The nerves of judgement are weakned most by its dalliance, and when woman, (I meane onely as she is externally faire) is the supreme object of wit, we soone degenerate into effeminacy. For the religion of fancie declines into a mad superstition, when it[2] adores that Idoll which is not secure from age and sicknesse. Of such heathens, our times afford us a pittyed multitude, who can give no nobler testimony of twenty yeares imployment, then some loose coppies of lust happily exprest. Yet these the common people of wit blow up with their breath of praise, and honour with the Sacred name of Poets: To which as I beleeve they can never have any just claime, so shall I not dare by this essay to lay any title, since more sweate and oyle he must spend, who shall arrogate so excellent an attribute. Yet if the innocency of a chaste Muse shall bee more acceptable, and weigh heavier in the ballance of esteeme, than a fame, begot in adultery of study; I doubt I shall leave them no hope of competition. For how unhappie soever I may be in the elocution, I am sure the Theame is worthy enough. In all those flames in which I burnt I never felt a wanton heate, nor was my invention ever sinister from the straite way of chastity. And when love builds upon that rocke, it may safely contemne the battery of the waves, and threatnings of the wind. Since time, that makes a mockery of the firmest structures shall it selfe be ruinated, before that be demolisht. Thus was the foundation layd. And though my eye in its survey, was satisfi'd, even to curiosity, yet did not my search rest there. The Alabaster, Ivory, Porphir, Jet, that lent an admirable beauty to the outward building, entertained me with but a halfe pleasure, since they stood there onely to make sport for ruine. But when my soule grew acquainted with the owner of that mansion; I found that Oratory was dombe when it began to speak her, and wonder (which must necessarily seize the best at that time) a lethargie, that dulled too much the faculties of the minde, onely fit to busie themselves in discoursing her perfections, Wisdome, I encounter'd there, that could not spend it selfe since it affected silence, attentive onely to instructions, as if all her sences had beene contracted into hearing: Innocencie, so not vitiated by conversation with the world, that the subtile witted of her sex, would have tearm'd it ignorance: Wit, which seated it selfe most in the apprehension, and if not inforc't by good manners, would scarce have gain'd the name of affability: Modesty, so timorous, that it represented a besieg'd Citty, standing watchfully upon her guard, strongest in the loyalty to her Prince. In a word, all those vertues which should restore woman to her primitive state of beauty, fully adorn'd her. But I shall be censur'd, in labouring to come nigh the truth, guilty of an indiscreet Rhetoricke. However such I fancied her, for to say shee is, or was such, were to play the Merchant, and boast too much the value of a Jewell I possesse, but have no minde to part with. And though I appeare to strive against the streame of best wits, in erecting the selfe same Altar, both to chastity and love; I will for once adventure to doe well, without a president. Nor if my rigid friend question superciliously the setting forth of these Poems, will I excuse my selfe (though justly perhaps I might) that importunity prevail'd, and cleere judgements advis'd. This onely I dare say, that if they are not strangled with envie of the present, they may happily live in the not dislike of future times. For then partiality ceaseth, and vertue is without the idolatry of her clients, esteemed worthy honour. Nothing new is free from detraction, and when Princes alter customes even heavie to the subject, best ordinances are interpreted innovations. Had I slept in the silence of my acquaintance, and affected no study beyond that which the chase or field allowes, Poetry had then beene no scandall upon me, and the love of learning no suspition of ill husbandry. But what malice, begot in the Country upon ignorance, or in the City upon Criticisme, shall prepare against me, I am armed to endure. For as the face of vertue lookes faire without the adultery of Art, so fame needes no ayde from rumour to strengthen her selfe. If these lines want that courtship, (I will not say flattery) which insinuates it selfe into the favour of great men, best; they partake of my modesty. If Satyre to win applause with the envious multitude; they expresse my content, which maliceth none, the fruition of that, they esteeme happie. And if not too indulgent to what is my owne; I thinke even these verses will have that proportion in the worlds opinion, that heaven hath allotted me in fortune; not so high, as to be wondred at, nor so low as to be contemned.

[1] she wantons too much. 1635.

[2] she adores. 1635.

[3]To his best friend and Kinsman
_William Habington_, Esquire.

_Not in the silence of content and store
Of private sweets ought thy Muse charme no more
Then thy_ Castara's _eare. 'Twere wrong such gold
Should not like Mines, (poore nam'd to this) behold
It selfe a publike joy. Who her restraine,
Make a close prisoner of a Soveraigne.
Inlarge her then to triumph. While we see
Such worth in beauty, such desert in thee,
Such mutuall flames betweene you both, as show
How chastity, though yce, like love can glow,
Yet stand a Virgin: How that full content
By vertue is to soules united, lent,
Which proves all wealth is poore, all honours are
But empty titles, highest power but care,
That quits not cost. Yet Heaven to Vertue kind,
Hath given you plenty to suffice a minde
That knowes but temper. For beyond your state
May be a prouder, not a happier Fate.
I Write not this in hope t'incroach on fame,
Or adde a greater lustre to your name.
Bright in it selfe enough. We two are knowne
To th' World, as to our selves, to be but one
In blood as study: And my carefull love
Did never action worth my name, approve
Which serv'd not thee. Nor did we ere contend,
But who should be best patterne of a friend.
Who read thee, praise thy fancie, and admire
Thee burning with so high and pure a fire,
As reaches heaven it selfe. But I who know
Thy soule religious to her ends, where grow
No sinnes by art or custome, boldly can
Stile thee more than good Poet, a good man.
Then let thy temples shake off vulgar bayes,
Th' hast built an Altar which enshrines thy praise:
And to the faith of after time commends
Yee the best paire of lovers, us of friends._

[4]GEORGE TALBOT.

[3] _To his best friend and kinsman. On his_ CASTARA. 1634.

[4] G. T. 1634.

A Mistris

_Is the fairest treasure, the avarice of Love can covet; and the onely white, at which he shootes his arrowes, nor while his aime is noble, can he ever hit upon repentance. She is chaste, for the devill enters the Idoll and gives the Oracle, when wantonnesse possesseth beauty, and wit maintaines it lawfull. She is as faire as Nature intended her, helpt perhaps to a more pleasing grace by the sweetnesse of education, not by the flight of Art. She is young, for a woman past the delicacie of her spring, may well move by vertue to respect, never by beauty to affection. Shee is innocent even from the knowledge of sinne, for vice is too strong to be wrastled with, and gives her frailty the foyle. She is not proude, though the amorous youth interpret her modestie to that sence; but in her vertue weares so much Majestie, lust dares not rebell, nor though masqued, under the pretence of love, capitulate with her. She entertaines not every parley offer'd, although the Articles pretended to her advantage: advice and her own feares restraine her, and woman never owed ruine to too much caution. She glories not in the plurality of servants, a multitude of adorers heaven can onely challenge, and it is impietie in her weakenesse to desire superstition from many. She is deafe to the whispers of love, and even on the marriage houre can breake off, without the least suspition of scandall, to the former liberty of her carriage. She avoydes a too neere conversation with man, and like the Parthian overcomes by flight. Her language is not copious but apposit, and she had rather suffer the reproach of being dull company, than have the title of Witty, with that of Bold and Wanton. In her carriage she is sober, and thinkes her youth expresseth life enough, without the giddy motion, fashion of late hath taken up. She danceth to the best applause but doates not on the vanity of it, nor licenceth an irregular meeting to vaunt the levity of her skill. She sings, but not perpetually, for she knowes, silence in woman is the most perswading oratory. She never arriv'd to so much familiarity with man as to know the diminutive of his name, and call him by it; and she can show a competent favour: without yeelding her hand to his gripe. Shee never understood the language of a kisse, but at salutation, nor dares the Courtier use so much of his practised impudence as to offer the rape of it from her: because chastity hath writ it unlawfull, and her behaviour proclaimes it unwelcome. She is never sad, and yet not jiggish; her conscience is cleere from guilt, and that secures her from sorrow. She is not passionately in love with poetry, because it softens the heart too much to love; but she likes the harmony in the Composition; and the brave examples of vertue celebrated by it, she preposeth to her imitation. She is not vaine in the history of her gay kindred or acquaintance; since vertue is often tenant to a cottage, and familiarity with greatnesse (if worth be not transcendant above the title) is but a glorious servitude, fooles onely are willing to suffer. She is not ambitious to be prais'd, and yet vallues death beneath infamy. And Ile conclude, (though the next sinod of Ladies condemne this character as an heresie broacht by a Precision) that onely she who hath as great a share in vertue as in beauty, deserves a noble love to serve her, and a free Poesie to speake her._

_Fifty-seven Poems, chiefly on Love and Courtship._

_To_ CASTARA,
_A Sacrifice_.

Let the chaste Phœnix from the flowry East,
Bring the sweete treasure of her perfum'd nest,
As incense to this Altar, where the name
Of my _Castara's_ grav'd by th' hand of fame.
Let purer Virgins, to redeeme the aire
From loose infection, bring their zealous prayer,
T' assist at this great feast: where they shall see,
What rites Love offers up to Chastity.
Let all the amorous Youth, whose faire desire
Felt never warmth, but from a noble fire,
Bring hither their bright flames: which here shall shine
As Tapers fixt about _Castara's_ shrine.
While I the Priest, my untam'd heart, surprise,
And in this Temple mak't her sacrifice.

_To_ CASTARA,
_Praying_.

I saw _Castara_ pray, and from the skie,
A winged legion of bright Angels flie
To catch her vowes, for feare her Virgin prayer
Might chance to mingle with impurer aire.
To vulgar eyes, the sacred truth I write,
May seeme a fancie. But the Eagles sight
Of Saints, and Poets, miracles oft view,
Which to dull Heretikes appeare untrue.
Faire zeale begets such wonders. O divine
And purest beauty; let me thee enshrine
In my devoted soule, and from thy praise,
T' enrich my garland, pluck religious Bayes.
Shine thou the starre by which my thoughts shall move,
Best subject of my pen, Queene of my love.

_To Roses in the bosome of_ CASTARA.

Yee blushing Virgins happie are
In the chaste Nunn'ry of her brests,
For hee'd prophane so chaste a faire,
Who ere should call them _Cupids_ nests.

Transplanted thus how bright yee grow,
How rich a perfume doe yee yeeld?
In some close garden, Cowslips so
Are sweeter then ith' open field.

In those white Cloysters live secure
From the rude blasts of wanton breath,
Each houre more innocent and pure,
Till you shall wither into death.

Then that which living gave you roome,
Your glorious sepulcher shall be.
There wants no marble for a tombe,
Whose brest hath marble beene to me.

_To_ CASTARA,
_A Vow_.

By those chaste lamps which yeeld a silent light,
To the cold Urnes of Virgins; By that night,
Which guilty of no crime, doth onely heare
The Vowes of recluse Nuns, and th' An'thrits prayer;
And by thy chaster selfe; My fervent zeale
Like mountaine yee, which the North winds congeale,
To purest Christall, feeles no wanton fire.
But as the humble Pilgrim, (whose desire
Blest in Christs cottage, view by Angels hands,
Transported from sad Bethlem,) wondring stands
At the great miracle: So I at thee,
Whose beauty is the shrine of chastity.
Thus my bright Muse in a new orbe shall move,
And even teach Religion how to love.

_To_ CASTARA,
_Of his being in Love_.

Where am I? not in Heaven: for oh I feele
The stone of _Sisiphus_, _Ixions_ wheele;
And all those tortures, Poets (by their wine
Made judges) laid on _Tantalus_, are mine.
Not yet am I in hell; for still I stand,
Though giddy in my passion, on firme land,
And still behold the seasons of the yeare,
Springs in my hope, and Winters in my feare.
And sure I'me 'bove the earth: For th' highest star
Shoots beames, but dim to what _Castara's_ are,
And in her sight and favour I even shine
In a bright orbe beyond the Christalline.
If then _Castara_ I in Heaven nor move,
Nor Earth, nor Hell; where am I but in Love?

_To my honoured Friend_, Mr. E. P.

Not still ith' shine of Kings. Thou dost retire
Sometime to th' Holy shade, where the chaste quire
Of Muses doth the stubborne Panther awe,
And give the wildernesse of his nature law.
The wind his chariot stops: Th' attentive rocke
The rigor doth of its creation mocke,
And gently melts away: _Argus_ to heare
The musicke, turnes each eye into an eare.
To welcome thee, _Endymion_, glorious they
Triumph to force these creatures disobey
What nature hath enacted. But no charme
The Muses have these monsters can disarme
Of their innated rage: No spell can tame
The North-winds fury, but _Castara's_ name.
Climbe yonder forked hill, and see if there
Ith' barke of every Daphne, not appeare
_Castara_ written; And so markt by me,
How great a Prophet growes each Virgin tree?
Lie downe, and listen what the sacred spring
In her harmonious murmures, strives to sing
To th' neighb'ring banke, ere her loose waters erre
Through common channels; sings she not of her?
Behold yond' violet, which such honour gaines,
That growing but to emulate her veines,
It's azur'd like the skie: when she doth bow
T' invoke _Castara_, heav'n perfumes her vow.
The trees the water, and the flowers adore
The Deity of her sex, and through each pore
Breath forth her glories. But unquiet love
[5]To make thy passions so uncourtly prove,
As if all eares should heare her praise alone.
Now listen thou; _Endymion_ sings his owne.

[5] To make affection so ill-nurtur'd prove. 1634, 1635.

_To_ CASTARA.

Doe not their prophane Orgies heare,
Who but to wealth no altars reare,
The soule's oft poys'ned through the eare.

_Castara_ rather seeke to dwell
Ith' silence of a private cell.
Rich discontent's a glorious hell.

Yet _Hindlip_ doth not want extent
Of roome (though not magnificent)
To give free welcome to content.

There shalt thou see the earely Spring,
That wealthy stocke of nature bring,
Of which the Sybils bookes did sing.

From fruitlesse Palmes shall honey flow,
And barren Winter Harvest show,
While Lilies in his bosome grow,

No North-winde shall the corne infest,
But the soft spirit of the East,
Our sent with perfum'd banquets feast.

A Satyre here and there shall trip,
In hope to purchase leave to sip
Sweete Nectar from a Fairies lip.

The Nimphs with quivers shall adorne
Their active sides, and rouse the morne
With the shrill musicke of their horne.

Wakened with which, and viewing thee,
Faire _Daphne_ her faire selfe shall free,
From the chaste prison of a tree:

And with _Narcissus_ (to thy face
Who humbly will ascribe all grace)
Shall once againe pursue the chase.

So they, whose wisdome did discusse
Of these as fictions: shall in us
Finde, they were more then fabulous.

_To_ CASTARA,
_Softly singing to her selfe_.

Sing forth sweete Cherubin (for we have choice
Of reasons in thy beauty and the voyce,
To name thee so, and scarce appeare prophane)
Sing forth, that while the orbs celestiall straine
To eccho thy sweete note, our humane eares
May then receive the Musicke of the Spheares.
But yet take heede, lest if the Swans of Thames,
That adde harmonious pleasure to the streames,
Oth' sudden heare thy well-divided breath,
Should listen, and in silence welcome death:
And ravisht Nightingales, striving too high
To reach thee, in the emulation dye.
And thus there will be left no bird to sing
Farewell to th' Waters, welcome to the Spring.

_To a Wanton._

In vaine faire sorceresse, thy eyes speake charmes,
In vaine thou mak'st loose circles with thy armes.
I'me 'bove thy spels. No magicke him can move,
In whom _Castara_ hath inspir'd her love.
As she, keepe thou strict cent'nell o're thy eare,
Lest it the whispers of soft Courtiers heare;
Reade not his raptures, whose invention must
Write journey worke, both for his Patrons lust,
And his owne plush: let no admirer feast
His eye oth' naked banquet of thy brest.
If this faire president, nor yet my want
Of love, to answer thine, make thee recant
Thy sorc'ries; Pity shall to justice turne,
And judge thee, witch, in thy owne flames to burne.

_To the Honourable my much honoured friend_, R. B. _Esquire_.

While you dare trust the loudest tongue of fame,
The zeale you heare your Mistresse to proclaim
To th' talking world: I in the silent'st grove,
Scarce to my selfe dare whisper that I love.
Thee, titles _Brud'nell_, riches thee adorne,
And vigorous youth to vice not headlong borne
By th' tide of custome: Which I value more
Then what blind superstitious fooles adore,
Who greatnesse in the chaire of blisse enthrone.
Greatnesse we borrow, Vertue is our owne.
In thy attempt be prosperous, and when ere
Thou shalt prefix the houre; may _Hymen_ weare
His brightest robe; where some fam'd Persian shall
Worke by the wonder of her needle all
The nuptiall joyes; which (if we Poets be
True Prophets) bounteous heaven designes for thee.
I envie not, but glory in thy fate,
While in the narrow limits of my state
I bound my hopes. Which if _Castara_ daigne
Once to entitle hers; the wealthiest graine
My earth, untild shall beare; my trees shall grone
Under their fruitfull burthen, and at one
And the same season, Nature forth shall bring
Riches of Autumne, pleasures of the Spring.
But digge, and thou shalt finde a purer Mine
Then th' Indians boast: Taste of this generous Vine,
And her blood sweeter will than Nectar prove.
Such miracles wait on a noble love.
But should she scorne my suite, I'le tread that path
Which none but some sad Fairy beaten hath.
There force wrong'd _Philomel_, hearing my mone,
To sigh my greater griefes, forget her owne.

_To_ CASTARA,
_Inquiring why I loved her_.

Why doth the stubborne iron prove
So gentle to th' magnetique stone?
How know you that the orbs doe move;
With musicke too? since heard of none?
And I will answer why I love.

'Tis not thy vertues, each a starre
Which in thy soules bright spheare doe shine,
Shooting their beauties from a farre,
To make each gazers heart like thine:
Our vertues often Meteors are.

'Tis not thy face, I cannot spie
When Poets weepe some Virgins death,
That _Cupid_ wantons in her eye,
Or perfumes vapour from her breath,
And 'mongst the dead thou once must lie.[6]

Nor is't thy birth. For I was ne're
So vaine as in that to delight:
Which ballance it, no weight doth beare,
Nor yet is object to the sight,
But onely fils the vulgar eare.

Nor yet thy fortunes: Since I know
They in their motion like the Sea:
Ebbe from the good, to the impious flow:
And so in flattery betray,
That, raising they but overthrow.

And yet these attributes might prove
Fuell enough t' enflame desire;
But there was something from above,
Shot without reasons guide, this fire.
I know, yet know not, why I love.

[6] And there must once thy beauty lie. 1634, 1635.

_To_ CASTARA,
_Looking upon him_.

Transfix me with that flaming dart
Ith' eye, or brest, or any part,
So thou, _Castara_, spare my heart.

The cold Cymerian by that bright
Warme wound, ith' darknesse of his night,
Might both recover heat, and light.

The rugged Scythian gently move,
Ith' whispering shadow of some grove,
That's consecrate to sportive Love.

_December_ see the Primrose grow,
The Rivers in soft murmurs flow,
And from his head shake off his snow.

And crooked age might feele againe
Those heates, of which youth did complaine,
While fresh blood swels each withered veyne.

For the bright lustre of thy eyes,
Which but to warme them would suffice,
May burne me to a sacrifice.

[7]_To the right honourable the Countesse of_ Ar.

Wing'd with delight (yet such as still doth beare
Chaste vertues stamp) those Children of the yeere
The dayes, haste nimbly; and while as they flie,
Each of them with their predecessors vie,
Which yeelds most pleasure; you to them dispence,
What Time lost with his cradle, innocence.
So I (if fancie not delude my sight,)
See often the pale monarch of the night,
_Diana_, 'mong her nimphs. For every quire
Of vulgar starres, who lend their weaker fire
To conquer the nights chilnesse, with their Queene,
In harmelesse revels tread the happy greene.
But I who am proscrib'd by tyrant love,
Seeke out a silent exile in some grove,
Where nought except a solitary Spring,
Was ever heard, to which the Nimphs did sing
_Narcissus_ obsequies: For onely there
Is musique apt to catch an am'rous eare.
_Castara!_ oh my heart! How great a flame
Did even shoot into me with her name?
_Castara_ hath betray'd me to a zeale
Which thus distracts my hopes. Flints may conceale
In their cold veynes a fire. But I whose heart
By Love's dissolv'd, ne're practis'd that cold art.
But truce thou warring passion, for I'le now
Madam to you addresse this solemne vow.
By Vertue and your selfe (best friends) I finde
In the interiour province of your minde
Such government: That if great men obey
Th' example of your order, they will sway
Without reproofe. For onely you unite
Honour with sweetenesse, vertue with delight.

[7] _To the right honourable my very good Lady_, Anne _Countesse of_ Ar. 1634, 1635.

_Upon_ CASTARA'S _frowne or smile_.

Learned shade of _Tycho Brache_, who to us,
The stars propheticke language didst impart,
And even in life their mysteries discusse:
_Castara_ hath o'rethrowne thy strongest art.

When custome struggles from her beaten path,
Then accidents must needs uncertaine be.
For if _Castara_ smile; though winter hath
Lock't up the rivers: Summer's warme in me.

And _Flora_ by the miracle reviv'd,
Doth even at her owne beauty wondring stand.
But should she frowne, the Northerne wind arriv'd,
In midst of Summer, leads his frozen band:
Which doth to yce my youthfull blood congeale,
Yet in the midst of yce, still flames my zeale.

_In_ CASTARA,
_All fortunes_.

Ye glorious wits, who finde then Parian stone,
A nobler quarry to build trophies on,
Purchast 'gainst conquer'd time; Go court loud fame,
He wins it, who but sings _Castara's_ name?
Aspiring soules, who grow but in a Spring,
Forc't by the warmth of some indulgent King:
Know if _Castara_ smile: I dwell in it,
And vie for glory with the Favorit.
Ye sonnes of avarice, who but to share
Uncertaine treasure with a certaine care.
Tempt death in th' horrid Ocean: I, when ere
I but approach her, find the Indies there.
Heaven brightest Saint, kinde to my vowes made thee
Of all ambition courts, th' Epitome.

_Upon thought_ CASTARA _may dye_.

If she should dye, (as well suspect we may,
A body so compact should ne're decay)
Her brighter soule would in the Moone inspire
More chastity, in dimmer starres more fire.
You twins of _Læda_ (as your parents are
In their wild lusts) may grow irregular
Now in your motion: for the marriner
Henceforth shall onely steere his course by her.
And when the zeale of after time[8] shall spie
Her uncorrupt ith' happy marble lie;
The roses in her cheekes unwithered,
'Twill turne to love, and dote upon the dead.
For he who did to her in life dispence
A heaven, will banish all corruption thence.

[8] times. 1634.

_Time to the moments, on sight of_ CASTARA.

You younger children of your father stay,
Swift flying moments (which divide the day
And with your number measure out the yeare
In various seasons) stay and wonder here.
For since my cradle, I so bright a grace
Ne're saw, as you see in _Castara's_ face;
Whom nature to revenge some youthfull crime
Would never frame, till age had weakened Time.
Else spight of fate, in some faire forme of clay
My youth I'de bodied, throwne my sythe away,
And broke my glasse. But since that cannot be,
I'le punish Nature for her injurie.
On nimble moments in your journey flie,
_Castara_ shall like me, grow old, and die.

_To a friend inquiring her name, whom he loved._

Fond Love himselfe hopes to disguise
From view, if he but covered lies,
Ith' veile of my transparent eyes.

Though in a smile himselfe he hide,
Or in a sigh, thou art so tride
In all his arts, hee'le be discride.

I must confesse (Deare friend) my flame,
Whose boasts _Castara_ so doth tame,
That not thy faith, shall know her name.

Twere prophanation of my zeale,
If but abroad one whisper steale,
They love betray, who him reveale.

In a darke cave which never eye
Could by his subtlest ray descry,
It doth like a rich minerall lye.

Which is she with her flame refine,
I'de force it from that obscure Mine,
And then it like pure should shine.

_A Dialogue betweene_ HOPE _and_ FEARE.

FEARE. Checke thy forward thoughts, and know
_Hymen_ onely joynes their hands;
Who with even paces goe,
Shee in gold, he rich in lands.

HOPE. But _Castara's_ purer fire,
When it meetes a noble flame:
Shuns the smoke of such desire,
Joynes with love, and burnes the same.

FEARE. Yet obedience must prevaile,
They who o're her actions sway:
Would have her in th' Ocean saile,
And contemne thy narrow sea.

HOPE. Parents lawes must beare no weight
When they happinesse prevent.
And our sea is not so streight,
But it roome hath for content.

FEARE. Thousand hearts as victims stand,
At the Altar of her eyes.
And will partiall she command,
Onely thine for sacrifice?

HOPE. Thousand victims must returne;
Shee the purest will designe:
Choose _Castara_ which shall burne,
Choose the purest, that is, mine.

_To_ CUPID,
_Upon a dimple in_ CASTARA'S _cheeke_.

Nimble boy in thy warme flight,
What cold tyrant dimm'd thy sight?
Hadst thou eyes to see my faire,
Thou wouldst sigh thy selfe to ayre:
Fearing to create this one,
Nature had her selfe undone.
But if you when this you heare
Fall downe murdered through your eare,
Begge of _Jove_ that you may have
In her cheeke a dimpled grave.
Lilly, Rose, and Violet,
Shall the perfum'd Hearse beset
While a beauteous sheet of Lawne,
O're the wanton corps is drawne:
And all lovers use this breath;
"Here lies _Cupid_ blest in death."

_Upon_ CUPID'S _death and buriall in_ CASTARA'S _cheeke_.

_Cupids_ dead. Who would not dye,
To be interr'd so neere her eye?
Who would feare the sword, to have
Such an Alabaster grave?
O're which two bright tapers burne,
To give light to the beauteous Urne.
At the first _Castara_ smil'd,
Thinking _Cupid_ her beguil'd,
Onely counterfeiting death.
But when she perceiv'd his breath
Quite expir'd: the mournefull Girle,
To entombe the boy in Pearle,
Wept so long; till pittious _Jove_,
From the ashes of this Love,
Made ten thousand _Cupids_ rise,
But confin'd them to her eyes:
Where they yet, to shew they lacke
No due sorrow, still weare blacke.
But the blacks so glorious are
Which they mourne in, that the faire
Quires of starres, look pale and fret,
Seeing themselves out shin'd by jet.

_To_ Fame.

Fly on thy swiftest wing, ambitious Fame,
And speake to the cold North _Castara's_ name:
Which very breath will, like the East wind, bring
The temp'rate warmth, and musicke of the Spring.
Then from the Articke to th' Antarticke Pole,
Haste nimbly and inspire a gentler soule,
By naming her, ith' torrid South; that he
May milde as _Zephirus_ coole whispers be.
Nor let the West where heaven already joynes,
The vastest Empire, and the wealthiest Mines:
Nor th' East in pleasures wanton, her condemne,
For not distributing her gifts on them.
For she with want would have her bounty meete.
Loves noble charity is so discreete.

_A Dialogue betweene_ ARAPHILL _and_ CASTARA.