[3]To his best friend and KinsmanWilliam Habington, Esquire.Not in the silence of content and storeOf private sweets ought thy Muse charme no moreThen thyCastara's eare. 'Twere wrong such goldShould not like Mines, (poore nam'd to this) beholdIt selfe a publike joy. Who her restraine,Make a close prisoner of a Soveraigne.Inlarge her then to triumph. While we seeSuch worth in beauty, such desert in thee,Such mutuall flames betweene you both, as showHow chastity, though yce, like love can glow,Yet stand a Virgin: How that full contentBy vertue is to soules united, lent,Which proves all wealth is poore, all honours areBut empty titles, highest power but care,That quits not cost. Yet Heaven to Vertue kind,Hath given you plenty to suffice a mindeThat knowes but temper. For beyond your stateMay 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 knowneTo th' World, as to our selves, to be but oneIn blood as study: And my carefull loveDid never action worth my name, approveWhich 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 admireThee burning with so high and pure a fire,As reaches heaven it selfe. But I who knowThy soule religious to her ends, where growNo sinnes by art or custome, boldly canStile thee more than goodPoet, 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 commendsYee the best paire of lovers, us of friends.[4]George Talbot.[3]To his best friend and kinsman. On hisCastara. 1634.[4]G. T. 1634.
[3]To his best friend and KinsmanWilliam Habington, Esquire.Not in the silence of content and storeOf private sweets ought thy Muse charme no moreThen thyCastara's eare. 'Twere wrong such goldShould not like Mines, (poore nam'd to this) beholdIt selfe a publike joy. Who her restraine,Make a close prisoner of a Soveraigne.Inlarge her then to triumph. While we seeSuch worth in beauty, such desert in thee,Such mutuall flames betweene you both, as showHow chastity, though yce, like love can glow,Yet stand a Virgin: How that full contentBy vertue is to soules united, lent,Which proves all wealth is poore, all honours areBut empty titles, highest power but care,That quits not cost. Yet Heaven to Vertue kind,Hath given you plenty to suffice a mindeThat knowes but temper. For beyond your stateMay 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 knowneTo th' World, as to our selves, to be but oneIn blood as study: And my carefull loveDid never action worth my name, approveWhich 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 admireThee burning with so high and pure a fire,As reaches heaven it selfe. But I who knowThy soule religious to her ends, where growNo sinnes by art or custome, boldly canStile thee more than goodPoet, 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 commendsYee the best paire of lovers, us of friends.[4]George Talbot.[3]To his best friend and kinsman. On hisCastara. 1634.[4]G. T. 1634.
[3]To his best friend and KinsmanWilliam Habington, Esquire.Not in the silence of content and storeOf private sweets ought thy Muse charme no moreThen thyCastara's eare. 'Twere wrong such goldShould not like Mines, (poore nam'd to this) beholdIt selfe a publike joy. Who her restraine,Make a close prisoner of a Soveraigne.Inlarge her then to triumph. While we seeSuch worth in beauty, such desert in thee,Such mutuall flames betweene you both, as showHow chastity, though yce, like love can glow,Yet stand a Virgin: How that full contentBy vertue is to soules united, lent,Which proves all wealth is poore, all honours areBut empty titles, highest power but care,That quits not cost. Yet Heaven to Vertue kind,Hath given you plenty to suffice a mindeThat knowes but temper. For beyond your stateMay 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 knowneTo th' World, as to our selves, to be but oneIn blood as study: And my carefull loveDid never action worth my name, approveWhich 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 admireThee burning with so high and pure a fire,As reaches heaven it selfe. But I who knowThy soule religious to her ends, where growNo sinnes by art or custome, boldly canStile thee more than goodPoet, 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 commendsYee the best paire of lovers, us of friends.[4]George Talbot.[3]To his best friend and kinsman. On hisCastara. 1634.[4]G. T. 1634.
Not in the silence of content and storeOf private sweets ought thy Muse charme no moreThen thyCastara's eare. 'Twere wrong such goldShould not like Mines, (poore nam'd to this) beholdIt selfe a publike joy. Who her restraine,Make a close prisoner of a Soveraigne.Inlarge her then to triumph. While we seeSuch worth in beauty, such desert in thee,Such mutuall flames betweene you both, as showHow chastity, though yce, like love can glow,Yet stand a Virgin: How that full contentBy vertue is to soules united, lent,Which proves all wealth is poore, all honours areBut empty titles, highest power but care,That quits not cost. Yet Heaven to Vertue kind,Hath given you plenty to suffice a mindeThat knowes but temper. For beyond your stateMay 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 knowneTo th' World, as to our selves, to be but oneIn blood as study: And my carefull loveDid never action worth my name, approveWhich 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 admireThee burning with so high and pure a fire,As reaches heaven it selfe. But I who knowThy soule religious to her ends, where growNo sinnes by art or custome, boldly canStile thee more than goodPoet, 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 commendsYee the best paire of lovers, us of friends.[4]George Talbot.
Not in the silence of content and store
Of private sweets ought thy Muse charme no more
Then thyCastara'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 goodPoet, 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 hisCastara. 1634.[4]G. T. 1634.
[3]To his best friend and kinsman. On hisCastara. 1634.
[4]G. T. 1634.