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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
The Miltonic Timeline, page 9 of 12
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John Milton

John Milton
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Previous page on path The Miltonic Timeline, page 9 of 12 Next page on path
Edmund Spenser

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