Sonnet I. Oh pleasing thoughts, apprentices of love

Thomas Lodge (1558–1625)

OH pleasing thoughts, apprentices of love,

Fore-runners of desire, sweet mithridates

The poison of my sorrows to remove,

With whom my hopes and fear full oft debates!

Enrich yourselves and me by your self riches,

Which are the thoughts you spend on heaven-bred beauty,

Rouse you my muse beyond our poets’ pitches,

And, working wonders, yet say all is duty!

Use you no eaglets’ eyes, nor phœnix’ feathers,

To tower the heaven from whence heaven’s wonder sallies.

For why? Your sun sings sweetly to her weathers,

Making a spring of winter in the valleys.

Show to the world, though poor and scant my skill is,

How sweet thoughts be, that are but thoughts on Phillis.