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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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vnnethes

vnnethes) scarcely.
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The Shepheardes Calender: January    Edmund Spenser    EK's gloss

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