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Mr. WILLIAM HABINGTON.

He was one of a quick wit and fluent language, whose Poems coming forth above thirty years ago, under the Title of Castara, gained a general fame and estimation, and no wonder, since that human Goddess by him so celebrated, was a person of such rare endowments as was worthy the praises bestowed upon her, being a person of Honour as well as Beauty, to which was joyned a vertuous mind, to make her in all respects compleat.  He also wrote the History of the Reign of King Edward the Fourth, and that in a style sufficiently florid, yet not altogether pleasing the ear, but as much informing the mind, so that we may say of that Kings Reign, as Mr. Daniel saith in his Preface to his History of England, That there was never brought together more of the main.  He also wrote a Tragi-Comedy, called, the Queen of Arragon, which as having never seen, I can give no great account of it.

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Mr. FRANCIS QUARLES.

Francis Quarles, son to James Quarles, Esq; was born at Stewards at the Parish of Rumford, in the County of Essex, and was bred up in the University of Cambridge, where he became intimately acquainted with Mr. Edward Benlowes, and Mr. Phineas Fletcher, that Divine Poet and Philosopher, on whose most excellent Poem of the Purple Island, hear these Verses of Mr. Quarles, which if they be as delightful to you in the reading, as to me in the writing, I question not but they will give you content.

  Mans Body’s like a House, his greater Bones
  Are the main Timber; and the lesser ones
  Are smaller splints:  his ribs are laths daub’d o’re
  Plaister’d with flesh and blood:  his mouth’s the door,
  His throat’s the narrow entry, and his heart
  Is the great Chamber, full of curious art: 
  His midriff is a large Partition-wall
  ’Twixt the great Chamber, and the spacious Hall: 
  His stomach is the Kitchin, where the meat
  Is often but half sod for want of heat: 
  His Spleen’s a vessel Nature does allot
  To take the skum that rises from the Pot: 
  His lungs are like the bellows, that respire
  In every Office, quickning every fire: 
  His Nose the Chimny is, whereby are vented
  Such fumes as with the bellowes are augmented: 
  His bowels are the sink, whose part’s to drein
  All noisom filth, and keep the Kitchin clean: 
  His eyes are Christal windows, clear and bright;
  Let in the object and let out the sight. 
  And as the Timber is or great, or small,