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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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So broke his oaten pype, and downe dyd lye.

So broke his pipe made of straw of an oat, and did lie domn.
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Teaching notes, 10 Sept. 2014  View all tags
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The Shepheardes Calender: January    Edmund Spenser

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