The poems and translations of Sir Edward Sherburne (1616-1702) excluding Seneca and Manilius Introduced and Annotated by F. J. Van Beeck |
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 | The poems and translations of Sir Edward Sherburne (1616-1702) |  |
The Surprise.
There's no dallying with Love
Though he be a Child and blind;
Then let none the danger prove
VVho would to himself be kind:
Smile he does when thou do'st play,
But his smiles to death betray.
Though he be a Child and blind;
Then let none the danger prove
VVho would to himself be kind:
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But his smiles to death betray.
Lately with the Boy I sported;
Love I did not, yet Love feign'd;
Had not Mistress, yet I courted;
Sigh I did, yet was not pain'd;
'Till at last this Love in Jeast,
Prov'd in Earnest my Unrest.
Love I did not, yet Love feign'd;
Had not Mistress, yet I courted;
Sigh I did, yet was not pain'd;
'Till at last this Love in Jeast,
Prov'd in Earnest my Unrest.
VVhen I saw my fair One first,
In a feigned fire I burn'd;
But true flames my poor Heart pierc't,
VVhen her Eyes on mine she turn'd:
So a reall VVound I took
For my counterfeited Look.
In a feigned fire I burn'd;
But true flames my poor Heart pierc't,
VVhen her Eyes on mine she turn'd:
So a reall VVound I took
For my counterfeited Look.
Slighted Love his skill to show,
Strook me with a Mortall Dart;
Then I learnt that 'gainst his Bow,
Vain are the weak Helps of Art:
And thus captiv'd, found that true
Doth dissembled Love pursue.
Strook me with a Mortall Dart;
Then I learnt that 'gainst his Bow,
Vain are the weak Helps of Art:
And thus captiv'd, found that true
Doth dissembled Love pursue.
'Cause his Fetters I disclam'd,
Now the Tyrant faster bound Me;
VVith more scorching Brands inflam'd,
'Cause in Love so cold he found me:
And my sighs more scalding made,
'Cause with VVinds before they playd.
Now the Tyrant faster bound Me;
VVith more scorching Brands inflam'd,
'Cause in Love so cold he found me:
And my sighs more scalding made,
'Cause with VVinds before they playd.
None who loves not then make shew,
Love's as ill deceiv'd as Fate;
Fly the Boy, hee'l cogg and wooe;
Mock him, and he wounds thee strait.
Ah! who dally boast in vain;
False Love wants not reall Pain.
Love's as ill deceiv'd as Fate;
Fly the Boy, hee'l cogg and wooe;
Mock him, and he wounds thee strait.
Ah! who dally boast in vain;
False Love wants not reall Pain.
| The poems and translations of Sir Edward Sherburne (1616-1702) | |