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