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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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Sere

Sere) withered.
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The Shepheardes Calender: January    Edmund Spenser    EK's gloss

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