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