#thomas lodge

[poemoftheday]

Poem of the Day 5 October 2023

Thomas Lodge. 1556?-1625

Phillis 1

MY Phillis hath the morning sun   At first to look upon her; And Phillis hath morn-waking birds   Her risings still to honour. My Phillis hath prime-feather'd flowers,   That smile when she treads on them; And Phillis hath a gallant flock,   That leaps since she doth own them. But Phillis hath too hard a heart,   Alas that she should have it! It yields no mercy to desert,   Nor grace to those that crave it.

[poemoftheday]

Poem of the Day 22 November 2022

Phillis 2 by Thomas Lodge LOVE guards the roses of thy lips And flies about them like a bee; If I approach he forward skips, And if I kiss he stingeth me. Love in thine eyes doth build his bower, 5 And sleeps within their pretty shine; And if I look the boy will lower, And from their orbs shoot shafts divine. Love works thy heart within his fire, And in my tears doth firm the same; 10 And if I tempt it will retire, And of my plaints doth make a game. Love, let me cull her choicest flowers; And pity me, and calm her eye; Make soft her heart, dissolve her lowers 15 Then will I praise thy deity. But if thou do not, Love, I'll truly serve her In spite of thee, and by firm faith deserve her.

[ochoislas]

MADRIGAL DE ROSALINDA

Amor como abeja en mi seno chupa el dulzor; ya travesea con sus alas, ya con los pies. Anida al fondo de mis ojos; en mis tiernos pechos se encama; hace colación de mis besos, y aún de mi sueño es ratero ¡el zascandil!

Y si duermo, donoso vuela yendo a posar toda la noche en mis rodillas su cabezal. Si yo taño, él templa las cuerdas; él discanta si alzo mi voz; de toda gracia me contenta, mas me traspasa su aguijón, ¿será otra vez?

A diario con zarzarrosas lo he de azotar, y si retoza, con escarnio lo haré ligar. Prisión le harán mis ojos prietos, en penitencia ayunará, por su vigor no daré un bledo. Mas si con todo osa retarme ¿qué he de ganar?

¿Y si con varas al rapaz vano hago azotar? Pues numen es, con muchas cuitas me pagará.   Pósate pues en mis rodillas, sea tu glorieta mi seno, libre amadrígate en mis ojos. Y juega, Cupido, sin tasa ¡por compasión!

*

ROSALIND’S MADRIGAL

Love in my bosom like a bee Doth suck his sweet; Now with his wings he plays with me, Now with his feet. Within mine eyes he makes his nest, His bed amidst my tender breast; My kisses are his daily feast, And yet he robs me of my rest. Ah, wanton, will ye?

And if I sleep, then percheth he With pretty flight, And makes his pillow of my knee The livelong night. Strike I my lute, he tunes the string; He music plays if so I sing; He lends me every lovely thing; Yet cruel he my heart doth sting. Whist, wanton, still ye!

Else I with roses every day Will whip you hence, And bind you, when you long to play, For your offense. I’ll shut my eyes to keep you in, I’ll make you fast it for your sin, I’ll count your power not worth a pin. Alas! what hereby shall I win If he gainsay me?

What if I beat the wanton boy With many a rod? He will repay me with annoy, Because a god. Then sit thou safely on my knee, And let thy bower my bosom be; Lurk in mine eyes, I like of thee. O Cupid, so thou pity me, Spare not, but play thee!

Thomas Lodge

di-versión©ochoislas

[shannonscommonplace]

Two suns at once from one fair heaven there shined, Ten branches from two boughs tipped all with roses, Pure locks more golden than is gold refined, Two pearled rows that nature’s pride encloses

Thomas Lodge

[heterocosmica]

Thomas Lodge was just... that dramatic, huh?

I mean “And if in life her love she nill agree me, // Pray her, before I die she will come see me.”, “The thrushes seek the shade, // And I my fatal grave;” like, dude, you’re not gonna die just because a girl doesn’t like you, chill.

Love him, tho, he’s my bitch, we’re tight.

[heterocosmica]

My Phillys hath the morning sun At first to look upon her; And Phyllis hath morn-waking birds Her risings for to honour. My Phyllis hath prime-feather'd flowers That smile when she threads on them; And Phyllis hath a gallant flock That leaps since she doth own them. But Phyllis hath so hard a heart- Alas, that she should have it- As yields no mercy to desert, Not grace to those that crave it. Sweet sun when thou look'st on, Pray her regard my moan; Sweet birds, when you sing to her, To yield some pity, woo her; Sweet flowers, when as she threads on, Tell her, her beauty deads one: And if in life her love she nill agree me, Pray her, before I die she will come see me.

My Phyllis, Thomas Lodge A Book of English Poetry (Collected by G. B. Harrison), Penguin Books 1976

[earlymodernmusings-blog]

Thomas Lodge nails the genre of the epistle to the reader in his “To the Gentlemen Readers” prefaced to Rosalynd:

“Gentlemen that favour most, backbite none, and pardon what is overslipt, let such come and welcome, I’ll into the stewards’ room and fetch them a can of our best beverage.”