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