And from mine eyes the drizling teares descend,

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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And from mine eyes the drizling teares descend,

And so I cry

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Teaching notes, 10 Sept. 2014 View all tags

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The Shepheardes Calender: January Edmund Spenser

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