Thomas Lodge - Broadview Press Publisher's Blog

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Sweet swallow far thou fliest till to our native
clime,
In pleasant April Phoebus’ 1 rays return the
sweeter time.
But Love no day forsakes the place whereas I
rest,
But every hour lives in mine eyes and in my heart
doth nest.
Each minute I am thrall 2 and in my wounded
heart
He builds his nest, he lays his eggs, and thence
will never part.
Already one hath wings, soft down the other
clads,
This breaks the skin, this newly-fledged about my
bosom gads. 3
The one hath broke the shell, the other soars on
high,
This newly laid, that quickly dead, before the
dam 4 come nigh.
Both day and night I hear the small ones how
they cry,
Calling for food who by the great are fed for fear
they die.
All wax and grow to proof and every year do lay
A second nest, and sit and hatch the cause of my
decay.
Ah, Maudeline, what relief have I for to remove
These crooked cares that thus pursue my heart in
harbouring love:
But helpless of relief since I by care am stung,
To wound my heart thereby to slay both mother
and her young.
[...]
These other two for their shortness and strangeness,
I could not find in my heart to pretermit,
knowing that the better sort, that are privy to 5 imitation
and method, will have their due estimate:
1 Phoebus’ the sun’s.
2 thrall bound, enslaved.
3 gads frolics, plays.
4 dam mother.
5 privy to knowledgeable about, acquainted with.
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My mistress when she goes
To pull the pink 6 and rose,
Along the river bounds
And trippeth on the grounds,
And runs from rocks to rocks
With lovely scattered locks,
Whilst amorous winds doth play
With hairs so golden gay.
The water waxeth clear,
The fishes draw her near,
The Sirens 7 sing her praise,
Sweet flowers perfume her ways,
And Neptune glad and fain
Yields up to her his reign. 8
Another.
When I admire the rose
That nature makes repose
In you the best of many,
More fair and blest than any,
And see how curious art
Hath decked every part,
I think with doubtful view
Whether you be the rose, or the rose is you.
An ode he wrote amongst the rest I dare not
forget, in that the poesy is appertinent 9 to this
time, and hath no less life in it than those of the
ancient, and the rather because hereby the learned
may see how even in those days poesy had her
impugners, and industry could not be free from
detraction:
6 pink carnation.
7 Sirens a somewhat ominous chorus, since the classical Sirens were
a group of sea nymphs whose singing was so enthralling that listeners
would become entranced, losing themselves in the music and
finally starving to death because they forgot to eat. They appear most
famously in Homer’s Odyssey.
8 And Neptune … reign William’s mistress is clearly associated with
the spring, while Neptune (the god and the planet) were thought to
rule over winter.
9 appertinent appertaining or properly belonging to; appropriate,
fitting.