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I have a pipe-seven stalks of different lengths
Compose it—which Damætas gave me once. 41
Dying he said, “At last 'tis all thine own.”
The fool Amyntas heard, and grudged, the praise.
Two fawns moreover (perilous was the gorge
Down which I tracked them !)—dappled still each

skin-
Drain daily two ewe-udders; all for thee.
Long Thestylis has cried to make them hers.
Hers be they—since to thee my gifts are dross.

Be mine, oh fairest! See! for thee the Nymphs
Bear baskets lily-laden : Naiads bright 50
For thee crop poppy-crests and violets pale,
With daffodil and fragrant fennel-bloom :
Then, weaving casia in and all sweet things,
Soft hyacinth paint with yellow marigold.
Apples I'll bring thee, hoar with tender bloom,
And chestnuts—which my Amaryllis loved,
And waxen plums: let plums too have their day.
And thee I'll pluck, oh bay, and, myrtle, thee
Its neighbour: neighboured thus your sweets shall

mix.

-Pooh! Thou ’rt a yokel, Corydon. Thy love 60
Laughs at thy gifts : if gifts must win the day,
Rich is Iolas. What vain thing have I,
Poor I, been asking—while the winds and boars
Ran riot in my pools and o'er my flowers ?

-Yet, fool, whom fliest thou ? Gods have dwelt in

woods, And Dardan Paris. Citadels let her . Who built them, Pallas, haunt: green woods for me. Grim lions hunt the wolf, and wolves the kid, And kids at play the clover-bloom. I hunt Thee only: each one drawn to what he loves. 70 See! trailing from their necks the kine bring home The plough, and, as he sinks, the sun draws out To twice their length the shadows. Still I burn With love. For what can end or alter love?

Thou’rt raving, simply raving, Corydon.
Clings to thy leafy elm thy half-pruned vine.'
Why not begin, at least, to plait with twigs
And limber reeds some useful homely thing ?
Thou 'lt find another love, if scorned by this.

ECLOGUE III.

MENALCAS. DAMETAS. PALÆMON.
M. Whose flock, Damætas? Melibaus's ?
D. No, Ægon's. Ægon left it in my care.
M. Unluckiest of flocks! Your master courts

Neæra, wondering if she like me more :
Meanwhile a stranger milks you twice an hour,
Saps the flocks' strength, and robs the suck-

ing lambs. D. Yet fling more charily such words at men.

You—while the goats looked goatish-we know

who, And in what chapel-(but the kind Nymphs

laughed)— M. Then (was it ?) when they saw me Micon's shrubs

10 And young vines hacking with my rascally

knife ? D. Or when by this old beech you broke the

bow And shafts of Daphnis: which you cried to see, 20

You crossgrained lad, first given to the boy;
And harm him somehow you must needs, or

die. M. Where will lords stop, when knaves are come

to this?
Did not I see you, scoundrel, in a snare
Take Damon's goat, Wolf barking all the while?
And when I shouted, “Where's he off to? Call,

Tityrus, your flock,"—you skulked behind the : sedge. D. Beaten in singing, should he have withheld

The goat my pipe had by its music earned ?
That goat was mine, you mayn't p'raps know:

and he

Owned it himself: but said he could not pay M. He beat by you? You own a decent pipe ?

Used you not, dunce, to stand at the crossroads,

Stifling some lean tune in a squeaky straw? D. Shall we then try in turn what each can do?

I stake yon cow—nay hang not back-she

comes Twice daily to the pail, is suckling twins. 30 Say what you'll lay.

M.

I durst not wager aught
Against you from the flock: for I have at home
A father, I have a tyrant stepmother.
Both count the flock twice daily, one the kids,
But what you'll own far handsomer, I'll stake
(Since you will be so mad) two beechen cups,
The carved work of the great Alcimedon.
O'er them the chiseller's skill has traced a vine
That drapes with ivy pale her wide-flung curls.
Two figures in the centre: Conon one, 40
And—what's that other's name, who'd take a

wand
And shew the nations how the year goes round;
When you should reap, when stoop behind the

plough? .

Ne'er yet my lips came near them, safe hid up. D. For me two cups the selfsame workman made,

And clasped with lissom briar the handles round.
Orpheus i’ the centre, with the woods behind.
Ne'er yet my lips came near them, safe hid up.
- This talk of cups, if on my cow you've fixed
Your eye, is idle.

Nay you'll not this day 50

M.

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