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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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Referenced by Edmund Spenser
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Edmund Spenser

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