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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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Yet all for naught: [such] sight hath bred my bane.

All for nothing, she created my misery
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Teaching notes, 10 Sept. 2014  View all tags
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The Shepheardes Calender: January    Edmund Spenser

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