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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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couth

couthe) commeth of the verbe Conne, that is, to know or to haue skill. As well interpreteth the worthy Sir Tho. Smitth in his booke of gouerment: wherof I haue a perfect copie in wryting, lent me by his kinseman, and my verye singular good freend, M. Gabriel Haruey: as also of some other his most graue & excellent wrytings.
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The Shepheardes Calender: January    Edmund Spenser    EK's gloss

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