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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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The blossome, which my braunch of youth did beare,

The love I felt, inspired by youthful innocence
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Teaching notes, 10 Sept. 2014  View all tags
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The Shepheardes Calender: January    Edmund Spenser

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