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University of Virginia Library

The poems and translations of Sir Edward Sherburne (1616-1702)

excluding Seneca and Manilius Introduced and Annotated by F. J. Van Beeck

Sherburne, Edward (1618-1702)

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POEMS AND TRANSLATIONS 1651

EROTICA SALMACIS

The Metamorphosis of LYRIAN and SYLVIA,

Forsaken LYDIA.

The Rape of HELLEN

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THE SYRACUSIANS,

Chloris Eyes and Breasts.

Love's Arithmetick.

Cælia weeping.

Novo Inamoramento.

The Resemblance.

Love once, Love ever.

The sweet Meat.

Violets in Thaumantia's Bosome.

An old Shepheard to a young Nymph.

Beauty encreased by Pity.

Weeping and Kissing.

Change defended.

The Microcosme.

A Maid in Love with a Youth blind of one Eye.

The broken Faith.

Complaint on the Death of Sylvia, to the River.

A Shepheard inviting a Nymph to his Cottage.

Sogno, a la sua donna

The Penitent Murderer.

The Pastorall Wooing.

On the Picture of Icarus in Wax.

On a Marble Statue of Nero, which falling kill'd a Child.

On an Ill Husband and Wife.

On Candidus, a rich Miser.

On Bassus a Pittifull Poet.

On a Boy kill'd by the fall of an Icesicle.

On Nestor a whisperer.

On Martinia, an old, old, leacherous—

On Philomuse, a needy Newesmonger.

On Aulus a Poet-Hater.

On Lentinus, being troubled with an Ague.

On Phœbus that wore leather Caps.

On Horace a poor fellow.

On a Swallow torn in Peeces by her Fellowes.

To Apollo pursuing Daphne.

De Erotio Puella.

On Mancinus a Prating Braggart.

On Caius, one of large Promises, but small Performances.

To Posthumus, an Ill Liver.

On Cinna a bold Suter.

The happy life. To Julius Martialis.

Epitaphium Glauciæ.

On Parthenopæus.

The Choice of his Mistris.

On Baucis, an old drunken Crone.

On Captain Ansa, a bragging Run-away.

On Marcus Anton: Primus his Picture.

Ad Puellam edentulam.

Epitaph on an old drunken Crone.

On Bibinus, a notorious Drunkard.

On poor Codrus, who though blind, was yet in Love.

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Ausonii Ludus septem Sapientum.

The Sentences of those seven Sages, comprehended in as many Septenaries.

Amphion, or a City well ordered.

Vertue improv'd by suffering.

To Mr Stanley, on his unimitable Poems.

On his Translation of Oronta.

To Mr James Shirley, on his Way of Grammer explained in English Verse.

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To the Eternall WISEDOME:

Draw Me, and I will follow Thee.

If a Man should give all the substance of his House for Love, he would value it as nothing

And they laid him in a Manger.

On the Innocents slain by Herod.

Christo Smarrito.

Christus Mathæum & discipulos alloquitur.

And she washed his Feet with her Teares, and wiped them with the Hairs of her Head.

Mary Magdalen weeping under the Cross.

On the Receiving of the blessed Sacrament.

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PRINTED POEMS from Books by Various Authors

To his Ingenious friend Mr. Charles Aleyn, on this his learned Poem.

To his loving brother M. John Sherburn on his Translation of OVIDS Heroicall Epistles.

To the unfading Memory of the Lord Horatio Veere deceased.

The Graces, or Hieron

On the publication of the Posthume Poems of M. William Cartwright, sometime Student of Christ-Church in Oxon.

On Ælian his Various History, Translated into English by Mr Thomas Stanley, the hopeful and onely Son of my dearest Friend Thomas Stanley of Cumberlow, Esquire.

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MANUSCRIPT POEMS, FRAGMENTS, DRAFTS.

[Lines on Wood's Athenæ Oxonienses]

[So dying Swans in Heliconian Plaines]

[Christ Crucified]

[Take Dardan what from dying Dido past.]

The Beginning of Virgils Third Booke

[Now Night befriending; fir'd with Lust and Wine]

[Haveing past cloudy Nava's rapid Stream]

[Of an old Law past Times Repeale, Wee read]

[The Best of Elements is Water; Gold]

[Men from ye Sea, fish from ye Earth might rise]

[Lines on the Death of Sir Charles Lucas and Sir George Lisle, shot at Colchester on 28 August, 1648]

[Lines on Ovids Heroical Epistles]

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56

Violets in Thaumantia's Bosome.

Tvvice happy Violets! that first had Birth
In the warm Spring, when no frosts nip the Earth;
Thrice happy now; since you transplanted are
Unto the sweeter Bosome of my Fair.
And yet poor Flowers! I pitty your hard Fate,
You have but chang'd, not better'd your Estate:
What boots it you t'have scap'd cold Winters breath,
To find, like me, by Flames a sudden death?