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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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Colin clout

COLIN Cloute) is a name not greatly vsed, and yet haue I sene a Poesie of M. Skeltons vnder that title. But indeede the word Colin is Frenche, and vsed of the French Poete Marot (if he be worthy of the name of a Poete) in a certein Æglogue. Vnder which name this Poete secretly shadoweth himself, as sometime did Virgil vnder the name of Tityrus, thinking it much fitter, then such Latine names, for the great vnlikelihoode of the language.
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The Shepheardes Calender: January    Edmund Spenser    EK's gloss

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