Egloga Prima.

Phillis: Honoured with Pastorall Sonnets, Elegies, and Amorous Delights. Where-unto is annexed, The Tragicall Complaynt of Elstred.

Dr. Thomas Lodge

Damon and Demades discourse about love, a variation on Spenser's Februarie. Thomas Lodge gathers inspiration from several of Spenser's eclogues. Cory and Wells both cite 'Egloga Prima' as an instance of Lodge's use of Spenserian diction.

Robert Aris Willmott: "He was a physician in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, and Philips, in the Theatrum Poetarum, calls him 'one of the writers of those pretty old songs and madrigals which were very much the strain of those times.' Lodge, perhaps, deserves higher praise. A sweet and serious vein of feeling runs through some of his poems, particularly Old Damon's Pastoral" Lives of Sacred Poets (1834) 123.

John Payne Collier: "Drayton headed his Pastorals, in 1593, with this imaginary name of Idea; and he afterwards pursued the same course in his Idea's Mirror, published in 1594, &c. As far as we certainly know, Drayton was never married, and none of his poems show that he was as successful admirer of the female sex. Daniel's 'Delia' was equally an imaginary personage, endowed with all graces of mind and person: once in his Sonnets, printed in 1592, he addresses her as Cynthia, and we might perhaps deem it a misprint, if it had not been continued through subsequent impressions. The 'Phillis' of Lodge, in 1593, was never considered to mean any lady of that name, and we know not why Spenser may not have used 'Rosalind' in the same manner. Lodge gave the name of Rosalind to the heroine of his tale on which Shakespeare founded As you like it, preserving the application; of which indeed he was so fond that he also employs it in his Romeo and Juliet as the name of the lady with whom his hero was first enamoured. For aught we know that appears they obtained it originally from Spenser in his Shepheardes Calender" Poetical Works of Spenser (1862; 1875) 1:cii.

Herbert E. Cory: "Lodge's pastoral novel, Rosalynde, Euphues Golden Legacie, set Shakespeare singing of woodland and shepherd and eternal youth. It contains a Spenserian Eglog betweene Montanus and Coridon, prototype of Shakespeare's youthful lover Silvius and the aged shepherd Corin.... We have been led, by a strange by-path in poetry, from the debate of crabbed age and youth in Februarie to these gentle lines with their smiling indulgence towards amorous shepherds. In Phillis (1593) Lodge imitated the Januarie in Egloga Prima; Demades, Damon. Lodge's enthusiasm flickered out in four dull eclogues printed in A Fig for Momus (1595)" "Spenserian Pastoral" PMLA 25 (1910) 245.

Now sourge of winters wracke is welnie spent,
And sunne ginnes looke more longer on our clime,
And earth no more to sorrow doth consent,
Why beene thy lookes forlorne that viewe the prime?
Unneth thy flockes may feed to see thee faint,
Thou lost, they leane, and both with woe attaint.

For shame cast off these discontented lookes,
For griefe doth waight one life, tho never sought,
(So Thenot wrote admir'd for Pipe and bookes:)
Then to the springe attemper thou thy thought,
And let advice reare up thy drooping minde:
And leave to weepe thy woes unto the winde.

Ah Demades no wounder tho I waile,
For even the spring is winter unto me,
Looke as the sunne the earth doth then availe,
When by his beames, hir bowels warmed bee:
Even so a Saint more sunne-bright in hir shining.
First wrought my weale, now hasts my winters pining.

Which lovely lampe withdrawne from my poore eyes,
Both partes of earth, and fire drownd up in woe:
In winter dwell: my joy my courage dies,
My lambes with me that doe my winter knowe?
For pitty scorne the spring that nyeth neere,
And pine to see, their Masters pining cheere.

The roote which yeeldeth sappe unto the tree,
Drawes from the earth the meanes that makes it spring:
And by the sap the siens fostered bee,
All from the sunne have comfort and increasing:
And that faire eie that lightes this earthly ball,
Killes by depart, and neeting cheereth all.

As roote to tree such is my tender heart,
Whose sappe is thought, whose braunches are content:
And from my soule they drawe their sweet or smarte,
And from hir eie, my soules best life is lent.
Which heavenly eye that lightes both earth and aire,
Quels by depart and quickens by repaire.

Give periode to the processe of thy plaint,
Unhappie Damon witty in selfe-greeving:
Tend thou thy flockes, let tyrant love attaint,
Those tender heartes that make their love their living.
And as kinde time keepes Phillis from thy sight,
So let prevention banish fancie quite.

Cast hence this Idle fuel of desire,
That feedes that flame wherein thy heart consumeth:
Let reason schoole thy will which doth aspire,
And counsell coole impatience that presumeth:
Drive hence vaine thoughtes which are fond loves abetters,
For he that seekes his thraldoome merits fetters.

The vaine Idea of this dietie
Nust at the teare of thine Imagination:
Was bred brought, up by thine owne vanitie,
Whose beeing thou mayest curse from the creation:
And so thou list, thou maiest as soone forget love,
As thou at first didst fashion and beget love.

Peace Demades peace sheep-heard do not tempt me,
The sage-taught wise may speake thus, but not practise:
Rather from life, then from my love exempt me,
My happie love wherein my weale and wracke lies:
Where chillie age first left love, and first lost hir,
There youth sound love, likt love, and love did foster.

Not as Ambitious of their owne decay,
But curious to equall your fore-deedes:
So tread we now within your woonted way,
We find your fruites of judgementes and their seedes:
We know you lov'd, and loving learne that lore,
You scorne kind love, because you can no more:

Tho from this pure refiner of the thought,
The gleanings of your lerninges have you gathred
Your lives had beene abortive bace and nought,
Except by happie love they had beene fathered,
Then still the swaine, for I will still avowe it:
They have no witte nor worth that dis-alow it.

Then to renewe the ruines of my teares,
Be thou no hinderer Demades I pray thee.
If my love sighes, grow tedious in thine eares,
Flye me, that flye from joy, I list not stay thee,
Morne sheepe, morne lambes, and Damon wil weep by you,
And when I sigh come home sweete Phillis cry you.

Come home sweete Phillis, for thine absence causeth
A flowerlesse prime-tide in these drooping medowes,
To push his beauties foorth each primrose pauseth,
Our Lillies and our Roses like coy widowes
Shut in their buddes their beauties, and bemoane them,
Because my Phillis doth not smile upon them.

The trees by my redoubled sighes long blasted,
Call for thy balme-sweete breath and sunnie eyes,
To whom all natures comforts are hand-fasted,
Breath, looke on them, and they to life arise:
They have new liveries with each smile thou lendest,
And droope with me, when thy faire brow thou bendest.

I wooe thee Phillis with more earnest weeping,
Then Niobe for hir dead issue spent,
I pray thee Nimph who hast our spring in keeping:
Thou mistresse of our flowers and my content,
Come home and glad our Meades of winter wearie,
And make thy wofull Damon blith and merrie,

Else will I captive all my hopes againe,
And shut them up in prisons of dispaire:
And weepe such teares as shal destroy this plaine.
And sigh such sighes as shall Eclipse the aire.
And cry such cries as love that heares my crying,
Shall faint and weepe for griefe, and fall a dying.

My little world hath vow'd no sunne shall glad it,
Except thy little world her light discover,
Of which heavens would growe proud if so they had it,
Oh how I feare least absent Jove shoulde love her,
I feare it Phillis, for he never sawe one,
That had more heaven-sweet lookes to lure and awe one.

I sweare to thee all-seeing soveraine,
Rowling heavens circles round about our center:
Except my Phillis safe returne againe,
No joy to heart, no meate to mouth shall enter.
All hope (but future hope to be renouned,
For weeping Phillis) shall in teares be drowned.

How large a scope lendes Damon to his moane,
Wasting those treasures of his happy-witte:
In regestring his wofull woe-begone?
Ah bende thy Muse to matters farre more fitte:
For time shall come when Phillis is interd,
That Damon shall confesse that he hath erd.

When natures riches shal (by time dissolved)
Call thee to see with more judiciall eye:
How Phillis beauties are to dust resolved,
Thou then shalt aske thy selfe the reason why
Thou wert so fond, since Phillis was so fraile,
To praise her giftes that should so quickly faile?

Have mercie on thy selfe cease being idle,
Let reason claime and gaine of will his homage:
Raine in these brain-sicke thoughts with judgements bridle,
A short prevention helpes a mighty domage.
If Phillis love, love hir, yet love hir so:
That if she flye, thou maiest loves fire forgo.

Play with the fire, yet die not in the flame,
Show passions in thy wordes, but not in heart:
Least when thou think'st to bring thy thoughtes in frame,
Thou prove thy selfe a prisoner by thine Arte.
Play with these babes of love, as Apes with Glasses,
And put no trust in feathers, winde, or lasses.

Did not thine age yeeld warrantise (olde man)
Impatience would inforce me to offend thee,
Me list not now thy froward skill to scanne,
Yet will I pray that love may mend or end thee.
Spring flowers, sea-tides, earth grasse, skie stars shal banish,
Before the thoughtes of love or Phillis vanish.

So get the gone and fold thy tender sheepe,
For lo the greate Autumedon of day:
In Isis streame his golden lockes doth steepe,
Sad Even her duskie mantle doth display?
Light-flying foules the posts of night disport them,
And cheerfull looking Vesper doth consort them.

Come you my carefull flocke fore goe your maister,
Ile folde you up and after fall a sighing,
Wordes have no worth my secret woundes to plaister,
Nought may refresh my joyes but Phillis nighing.
Farewell olde Demades.

Damon farewell.
How gainst advise doth headlong youth rebell.

[sigs D4-E2v]