| 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 Phoenix 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 Phoebe 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 |