Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. II. The Seventeenth Century: Ben Jonson to Dryden

William Habington (1605–1654)

To Castara. 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, to enrich her fare?

As soon as I my ear obey,

The echo ’s lost even 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 glowworm is as warm as bright,

Till the deceitful flame we touch.

When I have sold my heart to lust,

And bought repentance with a kiss;

I find the malice of my dust,

That told me hell contained a bliss.

The rose yields her sweet blandishment

Lost in the fold of lovers’ wreaths;

The violet enchants the scent,

When early in the spring she breathes.

But winter comes, and makes each flower

Shrink from the pillow where it grows;

Or an intruding cold hath power

To scorn the perfume of the rose.

Our senses, like false glasses, show

Smooth beauty, where brows wrinkled are,

And makes the cozen’d fancy glow;

Chaste virtue ’s only true and fair.