Sign in or register
for additional privileges

Scalar Milton

Evan Thomas, Milton Group8, Milton Group7, Milton Group6, Milton Group5, Milton Group4, Milton Group3, Milton Group2, Milton Group1, Milton Group9, Authors

You appear to be using an older verion of Internet Explorer. For the best experience please upgrade your IE version or switch to a another web browser.

It is not Hobbinol, wherefore I plaine,

It's not him, why I complain
This page is a tag of:
Teaching notes, 10 Sept. 2014  View all tags
Comment on this page
 

Discussion of "It is not Hobbinol, wherefore I plaine,"

Add your voice to this discussion.

Checking your signed in status ...


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