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Thou art my life, my love, my heart,

The very eyes of me ;
And hast command of every part,

To live and die for thee.


BORN 1589-DIED 1639.

CAREW, who was descended of an ancient and respectable

family in Gloucestershire, was, on his return from his travels, appointed by Charles the First a gentleman of the privy-chamber, and sewer in ordinary. Mr Campbell has given him praise fully as high as his poetical abilities merit in saying, that he unites the point and polish of later times with many of the genial and warm tints of the elder Muse. The“ point and polish" are, however, often deformed with trivial conceits; and the "genial tints" blended with indelicacy which could scarce be expected in an accomplished gentleman of the privy-chamber of the First Charles, however appropriate to one who held the same office with the second of the name. Lord Clarendon has given the history and drawn the literary portrait of Carew in a few words. Of his poems, Clarendon says, that, “ for the sharpness of the fancy, and the elegance of the language in which that fancy was spread, they were at least equal, if not superior, to any of the time. But his glory was, that, after fifty years spent with less exactness and severity than they ought to have been, he died with the greatest remorse for that license; and with the greatest manifestations of Christianity that his friends could desire."


He that loves a rosy cheek,

Or a coral lip admires,
Or from star-like eyes doth seek

Fuel to maintain his fires ;
As old time makes these decay,
So his flames must waste away.

But a smooth and stedfast mind,

Gentle thoughts, and calm desires, Hearts with equal love combin'd,

Kindle never-dying fires. Where these are not, I despise Lovely cheeks, or lips, or eyes.


MARK how the bashful morn in vain

Courts the amorous marigold With sighing blasts, and weeping rain,

Yet she refuses to unfold. But, when the planet of the day Approacheth with his powerful ray, Then she spreads, then she receives His warmer beams into her virgin leaves.

So shalt thou thrive in love, fond boy !

If thy tears and sighs discover Thy grief, thou never shalt enjoy

The just reward of a bold lover :

But, when with moving accents, thou
Shalt constant faith and service vow,
Thy Celia shall receive those charms
With open ears, and with unfolded arms.


Ask me no more where Jove bestows,
When June is past, the fading rose;
For, in your beauty's orient deep,
These flowers, as in their causes, sleep.

Ask me no more whither do stray
The golden atoms of the day ;
For, in pure love, Heaven did prepare
Those powders to enrich your hair.

Ask me no more, whither doth haste
The nightingale, when May is past ;
For in your sweet dividing throat
She winters, and keeps warm her note.

Ask me no more where those stars light That downwards fall in dead of night ; For in your eyes they sit, and there Fixed become as in their sphere.

Ask me no more, if east or west
The phenix builds her spicy nest ;
For unto you at last she flies,
And in your fragrant bosom dies.



Give me more love, or more disdain,

The torrid or the frozen zone
Bring equal ease unto my pain ;

The temperate affords me none :
Either extreme, of love or hate,
Is sweeter than a calm estate,

Give me a storm ; if it be love,

Like Danae in that golden shower,
I swim in pleasure ; if it prove

Disdain, that torrent will devour
My vulture hopes ; and he's possess'd
Of heaven that's but from hell releas'd :
Then crown my joys, or cure my pain ;
Give me more love, or more disdain.


BORN 1605-DIED 1654.

This poet was descended of a Catholic family. He studied

at St Omer's, and, by his knowledge and accomplishments, procured the favour of Charles the First, which was seldom bestowed on the undeserving. Habington passed his life in retirement, dividing his time between the pursuits of a country gentleman and the study of polite letters. His poems published under the title of CASTARA had considerable celebrity, though he would, in this riper age, only have ranked as one of the multitude of gentlemen who write with ease. The lady he celebrated under the name of Castara was a daughter of Lord Powis, and afterwards became the wife of the poet. At that time it appeared to be indispensable that every clever man who was in love should tell it in smooth verse to the public. Besides these poems, Habington wrote the QUEEN OF ARRAGON, a Tragedy, and the History of Edward the Fourth.

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.


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