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