Poems and translations amorous, lusory, morall, divine [collected and translated] by Edvvard Sherburne ...

SACRA.

To the Eternall WISEDOME; Vpon the Distraction of the Times.

O Thou Eternall Mind! whose VVisedome sees, And rules our Changes by unchang'd Decrees, As with Delight on thy grave Works We look, Say; art thou too with our light Follies took? For when thy bounteous Hand, in liberall Showres Each where diffus'd, thy various Blessings powres; VVe catch at them with strife as vain to sight, As Children, when for Nuts they scrambling, fight. This snatching at a Scepter breaks it; He, That broken does e're he can graspe it, see. The poor World seeming like a Ball, that lights Betwixt the hands of Pow'rfull Opposites: VVhich while they cantonize in their bold Pride, They but an Immateriall Point divide. O whilst for VVealthy Spoyles these fight, let Me, Though poor, enjoy a happy Peace with Thee.

Draw Me, and I will follow Thee.

THrough devious Paths without thee, Lord! I run, And soon, without Thee, will my Race be done. Happy was Magdalen, who like a Bride, Her self to Thee by her fair Tresses ty'd. So she thy Presence never did decline, Thou her dear Captive wert, and she was Thine, Behold another Magdalen in Me! Then stay with Me, or draw me after Thee.

If a Man should give all the substance of his House for Love, he would value it as nothing, Cant. 8.

LOve I'd of Heaven have bought; when He, (this who VVould think?) both Purchase was, and Seller too. I offer'd Gold; but Gold he did not prize. I offer'd Gems; but Gems he did despise. I offer'd All; All he refus'd yet: why, If All wo'nt take, take what is left, said I. At this he smil'd, and said; in vain divine Love's Price thou beat'st; give nothing and shee's thine.

And they laid him in a Manger.

HAppy Cribb! that wert alone To my God, Bed, Cradle, Throne, VVhilst thy glorious vilenesse, I View with divine Phant'sies Eye;

Sordid filth seems all the Cost, State, and Splendour, Crowns doe boast. See! Heaven's sacred Majesty Humbled beneath Poverty. Swadled up in homely Rags, On a Bed of Straw and Flags. He whose Hands the Heavens displayd, And the VVorlds Foundations layd, From the VVorld's almost exil'd, Of all Ornaments despoyl'd. Perfumes bath him not, new born, Persian Mantles hot adorn: Nor do the rich Roofs look bright VVith the Jaspers Orient Light. VVhere O Royall Infant! be Th' Ensigns of thy Majestie? Thy Sires equallizing State, And thy Scepter that rules Fate? VVhere's thy Angell-guarded Throne, VVhence thy Laws thou didst make known? Laws which Heaven, Earth, Hell obay'd; These, ah these, aside he layd; VVould the Emblem be, of Pride By Humility outvy'd.

On the Innocents slain by Herod.

GO blessed Innocents! and freely powre Your Souls forth in a Purple showre. And for that little Earth each shall lay down Purchase a Heavenly Crown.

Nor of Originall Pollution feare The Stains should to your blouds adhere; For yours now shed, e're long shall in a Floud Be wash'd of better Bloud.

Christo Smarrito.

SIghing, her sad Heart fraught with Fears, Whilst from her Eyes gush streams of Tears, Seeking again how to retrive Her little wandring Fugitive, Each where with weary Steps doth rove, The Virgin Mother of lost Love. Like a sad Turtle, up and down She mourning runs through all the Town: With searching Eyes she pries about In every Creek; within, without. Sticks at each Place, looks o're and ore; Searches, where she had search'd before: Old Joseph following with sad Face, A heavy Heart, and halting Pace. Thrice had the Day been born i'th' East, As oft been buried in the West, Since the Dear Comfort of her Eyes She miss't; yet still her Search she plyes. Each where she seeks with anxious Care To find him out, yet knows not where. When the third Morn she saw arose, And yet no Beam of Hope disclose; Looking to Heaven, in these sad Words She vent to her full Grief affords. O my dear God! Son of my Wombe! My Joy, my Love, my Life, for whom

These Tears I shed, on thee I call, But oh! thou answer'st not at all. For thee I search, but cannot find thee: Say (Dear!) what new Embraces bind thee? What Heart, enamour'd on thy Eyes, Enjoyes what Heaven to Me denies? Daughters of Sion! you which stray With nimble feet upon the Way, I beg of you, (if you can tell,) To shew we where my Love doth dwell: Whose Beauty with Celestiall Rayes, The Light of Paradise displayes. Perhaps to you he is unknown; Ah! if you wish to hear him shown, I'l tell y'him: Snow her whiteness, seeks, Vermilion, Blushes, from his Cheeks: His Eye a light more chaste discloses Then amorous Doves, his Lips then Roses. Amber, and Gold shine in his Hair (If Gold, or Amber may compare With that,) a Beauty so Divine, No Tongue, Pen, Fant'sie can design. Why break'st thou not (my Soul) this Chain Of Flesh? why lett'st thou that restrain Thy nimble Flight into his Arms, VVhose only Look with gladness charms? But (alas!) in vain I speak to thee Poor Soul! already fled from Me; To seek out him in whose lov'd Brest, Thy Life, as mine in thee, doth rest. Blest Virgin! who in Tears half drown'd, Griev'st that thy Son cannot be found. The time will come when Men shall hear thee Complain that he is too too near thee.

When in the midd'st of hostile Bands With pierced Feet, and nailed Hands Advanc'd upon a cursed Tree His naked Body thou shalt see As void of Coverture, as Friends, But what kind Heaven in pitty lends, Thy Soul will then abhor the Light, And think no Grief worse than his Sight. But loe, as thus she search'd, and wept, By chance she to the Temple stept, Where her dear Son with joyfull Eyes Set 'mongst the Rabbins she espies. And as the Light of some kind Star To a distressed Marriner, So his dear sight to her appears, Tost in this Tempest of her Fears. But O what tongue can now impart The joy of her revived Heart? The Welcome, spoke in mutuall Blisses Of sweet Embraces, sweeter Kisses! Muse, since too high forthy weak Wing ••is, contemplate what thou canst not sing.

Christus Mathaeum & discipulos alloquitur.

LEave, leave converted Publican! lay down That sinfull Trash; which in thy happier Race To gain a Heavenly Crown Clogs thy free Pace. O what for this pale durt will not Man do! Nay even now, 'mongst you (For this) there's One I see, Seeks to sell Me.

But Times will come hereafter, when for Gold, I shall by more (alas) than One, be sold.

Conscience.

INternall Cerberus! whose griping fangs That gnaw the Soul are the Minds secret Pangs: Thou greedy Vulture! that dost gorging Tire On Hearts corrupted by impure desire. Subtle, and buzzing Hornet! that dost ring A Peal of Horrour, e'r thou giv'st the sting. The Souls rough File that smoothness does impart! The Hammer that does break a stony Heart! The Worm that never dies! the Thorn within, That pricks, and pains: the whip, and scourge of sin! The voice of God in Man! which, without rest Doth softly cry within a troubled Breast; To all Temptations is that Soul left free, That makes not to it self a Curb of Me.

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

THe proud Aegyptian Queen, her Roman Guest, (T' express her Love in Hight of State, and Pleasure) With Pearl dissolv'd in Gold, did feast, Both Food, and Treasure.

And now (dear Lord!) thy Lover, on the fair And silver Tables of thy Feet, behold! Pearl in her Tears, and in her Hair, Offers thee Gold.

Good Fryday.

THis Day eternall Love, for me Fast nail'd unto a cursed Tree; Rending his fleshly Veyl, did through his side A way to Paradise provide. This Day Life dy'd; and dying, overthrew Death, Sin, and Satan too; O happy day! May sinners say: But Day can it be said to be, Wherein We see The bright Sun of celestiall Light O'rshadow'd with so black a Night?

Mary Magdalen weeping under the Cross.

I Thirst, my dear, and dying Saviour cryes: These Hills are dry: O drink then from my Eyes.

On the Receiving of the blessed Sacrament.

THen Nourishment our Naturall Food imparts, When that into our Flesh, and Blood converts: But at this heavenly Banquet, I Then find of strength a spirituall supply, When (as by Faith the sacred Food I eat) My Soul converts into the Meat.

The Message.

DEar Saviour! that my Love I might make known To thee, I sent more Messengers than one. My heart went first, but came not back; My Will I sent thee next, and that staid with thee still. Then, that the better thou might'st know my Mind, I sent my Int'lect; that too staies behind. Now my Soul's sent: Lord! if that stay with thee, O what a happy Carkass shall I be!

The Fountain.

STranger, who e'r thou art, that stoop'st to taste These sweeter streams, let me arrest thy haste; Nor of their fall The Murmurs, (though the Lyre Less sweet be) stand t' admire: But as you shall See from this Marble Tun The liquid Christall run; And mark withall, How fixt the one abides, How fast the other glides; Instructed thus the Difference learn to see, 'Twixt Mortall Life, and Immortality.

FINIS.