THOMAS LODGE. 1556-1625. ["Rosalynde: Euphues Golden Legacie." 1581.] ROSADOR'S SONNETO. TURN I my looks unto the skies, Love with his arrows wounds mine eyes; If so I look upon the ground, Love then in every flower is found; E'en there I meet with sacred Love. He will be partner of my moan; ["The Phoenix Nest." 1593.] THE SHEPHERD'S SORROW FOR HIS PHOEBE'S DISDAIN. O woods! unto your walks my body hies, To loose the traitorous bonds of 'ticing Love, From forth their tender stalks, to help mine eyes, When I behold the fair adornéd tree, Which lightning's force and winter's frost resists, And Phoebus' lawless pride Enforce me say, even such my sorrows be; If I behold the flowers by morning tears, Whereas my piteous plaint, that still appears, When I regard the pretty, gleeful bird, With tearful (yet delightful) notes complain, I yield a tenor with my tears, And whilst her music wounds mine ears, Alas! say I, when will my notes afford Such like remorse, who still beweep my pain? When I behold upon the leafless bough The hapless bird lament her love's depart, I draw her biding nigh, And, sitting down, I sigh, And sighing say, Alas! that birds avow A settled faith, yet Phoebe scorns my smart. Thus weary in my walk, and woeful too, My sorrow doth express; I doat on that which doth my heart undo, ["The Phonix Nest."] Now I find thy looks were feignéd, Of thine eyes I made my mirror; Thy false tears, that me aggrievéd, Siren pleasant, foe to reason, Feigned acceptance, when I askéd, Siren pleasant, foe to reason, Now I see (O seemly cruel!) Others warm them at my fuel: Wit shall guide me in this durance, Change thy pasture, take thy pleasure; Siren pleasant, foe to reason, Cupid plague thee for this treason! Prime youth lasts not, age will follow, And make white these tresses yellow: Wrinkled face, for looks delightful, Shall acquaint thee, dame despiteful ! And when time shall date thy glory, Then, too late, thou wilt be sorry. Siren pleasant, foe to reason, Cupid plague thee for this treason! ["A tragical comedie of Alexander and Campaspe." 1584.] Cupid and my Campaspe played At cards for kisses; Cupid paid. He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows, Growing on's cheek, but none knows how; [“ Gallathea." 1592.] O yes, O yes, if any maid |