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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
Virgil, page 3 of 3
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Epic

"epic, adj. and n." OED Online. Oxford University Press, September 2014. Web. 9 September 2014.

adj.
1. Pertaining to that species of poetical composition (see epos n.), represented typically by the Iliad and Odyssey, which celebrates in the form of a continuous narrative the achievements of one or more heroic personages of history or tradition.
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Previous page on path Virgil, page 3 of 3 Path end, return home
Edmund Spenser

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