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