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Rh William Habington, says Anthony à Wood, "did then run with the times, and was not unknown to Oliver the Usurper"—words so ambiguous that one longs to call the old Oxford chronicler back from his grave to give an explanation.

Very precious, too, would be some news of Lucy Habington during those "evil days." But nothing is clear save the one ultimate fact of the poet's history. On 13 November, 1654, at the beginning of his fiftieth year, William Habington died. His body was laid to rest in the old vault at Hindlip, by the side of his father and his grandfather: and not improbably close also to his beloved Castara.

Habington's historical works are scarcely read to-day, being supplanted by more recent research; although we have Edward Phillips' word that, twenty years after our author's death, his Historie of Edward IV. was better known than his Castara. The Queene of Arragon, also, was rather highly esteemed by his contemporaries, being revived during the Restoration. In its Prologue, Habington declares the language of this drama to be "easy, such as fell unstudied from his pen"—an assertion the reader will be tempted to take cum grano salis. As might be expected, there is a great deal of beauty in the love passages, and a certain loftiness of tone throughout. Its characterisation, especially in the case of Cleantha, is charged with vivacity. "Madam," observes this sprightly beauty, whose wit is almost worthy to rival the, immortal Beatrice:

But after all, it is as a lyric poet that William