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Scalar Milton

Evan Thomas, Milton Group8, Milton Group7, Milton Group6, Milton Group5, Milton Group4, Milton Group3, Milton Group2, Milton Group1, Milton Group9, Authors

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All so my lustfull leafe is drye and sere

My passion is withered
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Teaching notes, 10 Sept. 2014  View all tags
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The Shepheardes Calender: January    Edmund Spenser

Related:  Shepheards deuise she hateth as the snake,,  Shee deignes not my good will, but doth reproue,,  Both pype and Muse, shall sore the while abye.,  neighbour towne,  auaile,  overhaile,  Stoure,  Wherein I sawe so fayre a sight, as shee.,  A thousand sithes I curse that carefull hower,,  His kiddes, his cracknelles, and his early fruit.,  Albee my loue he seeke with dayly suit:,  As on your boughes the ysicles depend.,  My timely buds with wayling all are wasted:,  And now is come thy wynters stormy state,,  Sere,  John Milton,  Hobbinol,  Pastoral,  Thou barrein ground, whome winters wrath hath wasted,,  His clownish gifts and curtsies I disdaine,,  Colin them gives to Rosalind againe.,  Art made a myrrhour, to behold my plight:,  Ah foolish Hobbinol, thy gyfts bene vayne:,  EK's gloss,  The blossome, which my braunch of youth did beare,,  My musing mynd, yet canst not, when thou should:,  And of my rurall musick holdeth scorne.,  vnnethes,  And laughes the songes, that Colin Clout doth make.,  So broke his oaten pype, and downe dyd lye.,  Teaching notes, 10 Sept. 2014,  couth,  With breathed sighes is blowne away, & blasted,,  Whilome thy fresh spring flowrd, and after hasted,  And thou vnlucky Muse, that wontst to ease,  sithes,  His clownish gifts,  The Shepheardes Calender: January,  Wherefore my pype, albee rude Pan thou please,,  Thy mantle mard, wherein thou mas-kedst late.,  Wherein I longd the neighbour towne to see:,  Colin clout,  Rosalind,  Ah God, that loue should breede both ioy and payne.,  It is not Hobbinol, wherefore I plaine,,  Yet for thou pleasest not, where most I would:,  And from mine eyes the drizling teares descend,,  And eke tenne thousand sithes I blesse the stoure,,  Colins Embleme.,  I loue thilke lasse, (alas why doe I loue?),  I loue,  Edmund Spenser,  Thy sommer prowde with Daffadillies dight.,  Yet all for naught: [such] sight hath bred my bane.,  Virgil,  Epic,  And am forlorne, (alas why am I lorne?)