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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

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overhaile

Overhaile) drawe over.
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The Shepheardes Calender: January    Edmund Spenser    EK's gloss

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