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