COMATAS.

I'm cool-but feel annoyance at your daring

To look at me, yourself with me comparing,

Who taught you when a boy. What thanks one gains! Rear a wolf-whelp to rend you for your pains!

LACON.

Envious and shameless babbler! any thing
Learnt, heard I from you worth remembering?
Come hither, now, and learn from your defeat
No more with pastoral singers to compete.

And round their hives the bees, soft-humming, sail;
Two springs of coolest water murmur near;

A deeper shade and singing birds are here;
And from aloft her nuts the pine-tree throws.

LACON.

On fleece and lambskins here you may repose,
Softer than sleep! your goat-skins smell more ill —
E'en than yourself. I for the nymphs will fill

A bowl of white milk, of sweet oil an urn.

COMATAS.

On flowering pennyroyal, and soft fern

You here may tread; on skins of kids lie down
Softer than lambskins. I to Pan will crown
Eight jars of white milk, and as many more
Of honeycombs with honey running o'er.

LACON.

Each from his place pour out his rival strain;
Keep to your oaks, and I will here remain.

But who shall judge between us?

How I wish

The herdsman, good Lycopas with us

COMATAS.

Pish!

I want him not: but, if you please, we'll cry,

And summon to us yonder man doth tie

The broom in bundles near you. What dost say?

'Tis Morson.

LACON.

I'm agreed.

48

Now, by the nymphs! nor favour him nor me.

Thurian Sybartas owns the sheep in sight;

The goats Eumaras claims

-

the Sybarite.

LACON.

You good-for-nothing babbler! answer this,

Who asked you whose the sheep were, mine or his?

COMATAS.

I vaunt not, and I speak the simple truth;

But you are very scurrilous, in sooth.

LACON.

Sing if you have a song: don't kill with babble

Our friend here; by Apollo! how you gabble!

COMATAS.

Me more than Daphnis love the Muses true:

Two yearling kids to them I lately slew.

LACON.

Apollo loves me much; for him I rear
A goodly ram - his festival is near.

COMATAS.

I milk my goats, twin-bearing all but twain:

A sweet girl cries, "Why milk alone, fond swain ?”

LACON.

Some twenty baskets Lacon fills with cheese,

And gets him kisses wheresoe'er he please.

COMATAS.

Me with sweet apples Clearista pelts,

While round her lips a honey-murmur melts.

LACON.

On me a blooming beauty fondly dotes,

Round whose white neck the hair bright-shining floats.

F

COMATAS.

With the screened garden-roses cannot vie

The common dog-rose, nor anemony.

LACON.

The mountain-apples most delicious are

Who crabbed beech-nuts would with them compare?

COMATAS.

I for my love will snare, and give to her

A ring-dove brooding on a juniper.

LACON.

Wool for a mantle will I give my dear,
Soon as my sober-suited sheep I shear.

COMATAS.

From the wild olive, bleaters! feed at will,

Where grow the tamarisks, on this sloping hill.

LACON.

Off from that oak Cynætha and Conarus!

Feed eastward-yonder where you see Phalarus.