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