The date of Habington's marriage is not mentioned, but from a note to one of his poems in the second part of "CASTARA," which part, by the way, is christened The Wife, I should say it took place in or before 1630, his twenty-fifth year. Of his married life, indeed of his life generally, nothing is known, except that it was passed in retirement at the family manor in Hendlip. Devoted to his wife and his books, the contentions of the time swept by, and left him unharmed. In the words of Langbaine, "he was a gentleman who lived in the civil wars, and, slighting Bellona, gave himself entirely to the Muses." His poems were published in 1634.

TO CASTARA.

A SACRIFICE.

Let the chaste Phoenix, from the flowery East,
Bring the sweet treasure of her perfumed nest,
As incense to this altar, where the name
Of my Castara's graved by th' hand of Fame:
Let purer virgins, to redeem the air

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 fair desire
Felt never warmth but from a noble fire,

Bring hither their bright flames, which here shall shine.
As tapers fixed about Castara's shrine.

While I, the priest, my untamed heart surprise,
And in this temple make 't her sacrifice.

TO CASTARA.

INTENDING A JOURNEY INTO THE COUNTRY.

Why haste you hence, Castara? Can the Earth,
A glorious mother, in her flowery birth,
Show lilies like thy brow? Can she disclose

In emulation of thy cheeks, a rose,

Sweet as thy blush? Upon thyself then set
Just value, and scorn it thy counterfeit.

The Spring's still with thee; but perhaps the field,
Not warmed with thy approach, wants force to yield
Her tribute to the plough. O rather let

Th' ungrateful Earth forever be in debt

To th' hope of sweating Industry, than we

Should starve with cold, who have no heat but thee.
Nor fear the public good; thy eyes can give
A life to all, who can deserve to live.

TO THE SPRING.

ON THE UNCERTAINTY OF CASTARA'S ABODE.

Fair mistress of the Earth, with garlands crowned,
Rise, by a lover's charm, from the parched ground,
And show thy flowery wealth, that she, where'er
Her stars shall guide her, meet thy beauties there.
Should she to the cold northern climates go,
Force thy affrighted lilies there to grow,
The roses in those gelid fields t'appear;
She absent, I have all their winter here.

Or if to th' torrid zone her way she bend,

Her the cool breathing of Favonius lend.

Thither command the birds to bring their choirs;

That zone is temperate, I have all his fires.

Attend her, courteous Spring, though we should here
Lose by it all the treasures of the year.

TO CASTARA.

UPON THE DISGUISING HIS AFFECTION.

Pronounce me guilty of a blacker crime,
Than e'er, in the large volume writ by Time,

The sad historian reads, if not my art

Dissembles love, to veil an amorous heart.

For when the zealous anger of my friend.
Checks my unusual sadness, I pretend

To study virtue, which indeed I do;

He must court virtue, who aspires to you.

Or that some friend is dead, and then a tear,

A sigh, or groan steals from me; for I fear
Lest death with love hath struck my heart, and all
These sorrows usher but its funeral:

Which should revive, should there you a mourner be,
And force a nuptial in an obsequy.

TO SEYMORS.

THE HOUSE IN WHICH CASTARA LIVED.

Blest temple, hail! where the chaste altar stands,
Which Nature built, but the exacter hands.
Of Virtue polished. Though sad fate deny
My profane feet access, my vows shall fly.
May those musicians, which divide the air
With their harmonious breath, their flight prepare

For this glad place, and all their accents frame,
To teach the echoes my Castara's name.

The beauteous troops of Graces, led by Love
In chaste attempts, possess the neighboring grove,
Where may the Spring dwell still. May every tree
Turn to a laurel, and prophetic be,

Which shall in its first oracle divine

That courteous Fate decrees Castara mine.

TO CASTARA.

DEPARTING UPON THE APPROACH OF NIGHT.

What should we fear, Castara? The cool air,
That's fallen in love, and wantons in thy hair,
Will not betray our whispers. Should I steal

A nectared kiss, the wind dares not reveal
The pleasure I possess. The wind conspires
To our blest interview, and in our fires
Bathes like a salamander, and doth sip,

Like Bacchus from the grape, life from thy lip.
Nor think of night's approach. The world's great eye,
Though breaking Nature's law, will us supply

With his still-flaming lamp, and to obey

Our chaste desires, fix here perpetual day.

But should he set, what rebel night dares rise,

To be subdued i' th' victory of the eyes?

TO CASTARA.

UPON THOUGHT OF AGE AND DEATH.

The breath of Time shall blast the flowery spring,
Which so perfumes thy cheek, and with it bring
So dark a mist, as shall eclipse the light
Of thy fair eyes in an eternal night.
Some melancholy chamber of the earth,

(For that like Time devours whom it gave birth,)
Thy beauties shall entomb, while all whoe'er
Loved nobly, offer up their sorrows there.
But I, whose grief no formal limits bound,
Beholding the dark cavern of that ground,
Will there immure myself. And thus I shall
Thy mourner be, and my own funeral.

Else by the weeping magic of my verse,
Thou had'st revived to triumph o'er thy hearse.

LOVE'S ANNIVERSARY.

TO THE SUN.

Thou art returned (great light) to that blest hour
In which I first by marriage, sacred power,

Joined with Castara hearts; and as the same
Thy lustre is, as then, so is our flame;

Which had increased, but that by Love's decree,
'Twas such at first, it ne'er could greater be.
But tell me, (glorious lamp) in thy survey
Of things below thee, what did not decay
By age to weakness? I since that have seen
The rose bud forth and fade, the tree grow green
And wither, and the beauty of the field
With winter wrinkled. Even thyself dost yield

Something to time, and to thy grave fall nigher;
But virtuous love is one sweet endless fire.

TO CASTARA.

Why should we fear to melt away in death?
May we but die together! When beneath
In a cool vault we sleep, the world will prove
Religious, and call it the shrine of love.

There, when o' th' wedding eve some beauteous maid,
Suspicious of the faith of man, hath paid

The tribute of her vows, o' th' sudden she

Two violets sprouting from the tomb will see,

And cry out: "Ye sweet emblems of their zeal

Who live below, sprang ye up to reveal

The story of our future joys, how we

The faithful patterns of their love shall be?

If not, hang down your heads, oppressed with dew,
And I will weep, and wither hence with you.”

TO ROSES,

IN THE BOSOM OF CASTARA.

Ye, blushing virgins, happy are
In the chaste nunnery of her breasts,
For he'd profane so chaste a fair,
Whoe'er should call them Cupid's nests.