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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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And now is come thy wynters stormy state,

And now is come the winter's stormy state
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Teaching notes, 10 Sept. 2014  View all tags
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The Shepheardes Calender: January    Edmund Spenser

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