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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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auaile

Auail) bring downe.
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The Shepheardes Calender: January    Edmund Spenser    EK's gloss

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