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