Tags
- Theme/Pattern
- traverse The whole Battalion
- in guise
- a horrid Front
- that charm'd Thir painful steps
- Breathing united force
- From mortal or immortal
- Man
- Earth
- Metadata
- God
- Heaven
- Paternal Deitie
- Worm
- ill Mansion
- Unction
- the third
- perpetual fight
- Visibly
- pluckt the seated Hills
- Belial
- serried
- The sooner for thir Arms
- chaind Thunderbolts
- scarce
- perverse
- all his Father full exprest
- all my Warr, My Bow and Thunder, my Almightie Arms
- That shake Heav'ns basis
- And this perverse Commotion
- Immense I have transfus'd,
- Insensibly
- compute the dayes
- Second Omnipotence,
- Son in whose face invisible is beheld
- Th' Assessor of his Throne
- with jaculation dire
- pain Implacable,
- Into thir substance pent
- Main Promontories flung
- Light as the Lightning glimps
- in pleasant veine
- compel them to a quick result.
- terms Of composition,
- In posture to displode
- repulse Repeated
- Spirits evaded swift By quick contraction
- deep throated Engins belcht
- Immediate in a flame,
- to a narrow vent With Nicest touch
- while we suspense, Collected stood
- Portending hollow truce
- to either Flank retir'd
- while we discharge
- smote
- disgorging
- Seraph
- With hideous Orifice
- So scoffing in ambiguous words he scarce
- IX.279 - IX.566
- VII.197 - VII.474
- III.555 - IV.78
- I.560 - I.799
- Paradise Lost
- Ah God, that loue should breede both ioy and payne.
- Yet all for naught: [such] sight hath bred my bane.
- Wherein I sawe so fayre a sight, as shee.
- And eke tenne thousand sithes I blesse the stoure,
- Wherein I longd the neighbour towne to see:
- A thousand sithes I curse that carefull hower,
- Colin them gives to Rosalind againe.
- Ah foolish Hobbinol, thy gyfts bene vayne:
- His kiddes, his cracknelles, and his early fruit.
- His clownish gifts and curtsies I disdaine,
- Albee my loue he seeke with dayly suit:
- It is not Hobbinol, wherefore I plaine,
- As on your boughes the ysicles depend.
- And from mine eyes the drizling teares descend,
- With breathed sighes is blowne away, & blasted,
- The blossome, which my braunch of youth did beare,
- My timely buds with wayling all are wasted:
- All so my lustfull leafe is drye and sere
- And laughes the songes, that Colin Clout doth make.
- Shepheards deuise she hateth as the snake,
- And of my rurall musick holdeth scorne.
- Shee deignes not my good will, but doth reproue,
- And am forlorne, (alas why am I lorne?)
- I loue thilke lasse, (alas why doe I loue?)
- My musing mynd, yet canst not, when thou should:
- So broke his oaten pype, and downe dyd lye.
- Both pype and Muse, shall sore the while abye.
- And thou vnlucky Muse, that wontst to ease
- Yet for thou pleasest not, where most I would:
- Wherefore my pype, albee rude Pan thou please,
- Thy mantle mard, wherein thou mas-kedst late.
- And now is come thy wynters stormy state,
- Thy sommer prowde with Daffadillies dight.
- Whilome thy fresh spring flowrd, and after hasted
- Art made a myrrhour, to behold my plight:
- Thou barrein ground, whome winters wrath hath wasted,
- Epic
- Georgic
- Pastoral
- EK's gloss
- The Shepheardes Calender: January
- Edmund Spenser
- TS Eliot
- William Wordsworth
- William Blake
- Andrew Marvell
- John Milton
- John Donne
- Wyatt & Surrey
- Petrarch
- Virgil
- Homer
- Trojan War