Stoure

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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Stoure

Stoure) a fitt.

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The Shepheardes Calender: January Edmund Spenser EK's gloss

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