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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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sithes

Sythe) time.
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The Shepheardes Calender: January    Edmund Spenser    EK's gloss

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