IDYL V.

COMATAS AND LACON.

COMATAS.

LACON my goat-skin filched; by timely flight Avoid, my goats! the thievish Sybarite.

LACON.

Lambs from the fountain, do you not perceive Comatas, who my pipe did lately thieve?

COMATAS.

What sort of pipe? when, slave of Sybaris!
Didst own a pipe? are you not fain to hiss
Still through a pipe of straw with Corydon?

LACON.

'Twas Lycon's gift, good freeman! worthy one!

From you! when and what sort of skin stole I?

Your master has not one whereon to lie.

COMATAS.

The gift of Crocylus, when late he gave
The Nymphs a goat in sacrifice : you, slave!
Did steal my spotted skin from envy sheer.

LACON.

No! no! by the shore-guarding Pan I swear

Or from that rock into the waters deep

Of rapid Crathis may I madly leap!

COMATAS.

Nor, by the Nymphs, the guardians of the lake,

Did ever I the pipe of Lacon take—

So may the Nymphs look kindly to my weal.

LACON.

If I believe you, be it mine to feel

The griefs of Daphnis! will you stake a kid (It is none enterprise to men forbid),

And I'll out-sing you, till you cry "enough!"

COMATAS.

Athene challenged by a sow of scruff!

Here is my kid, which, when you beat me, take; A lamb, fat from the pasture, be your stake.

LACON.

How is this fair? in this you are no fool;
Who ever thought of shearing hair for wool,
Or passed a goat to milk a sorry bitch?

COMATAS.

Who has for conquest a prevailing itch,
Like you conceited, is a wasp that rings
His buzzing horn when the cicada sings.
But since my kid seems insufficient stake,
Behold this ram! at once the song awake.

LACON.

Softly! you are not walking over fire:

Here you may sing whate'er your muse inspire
More sweetly in this grove, beneath the shade
Of the wild olive; here a couch is laid
Of softest herbage; locusts babble here
Cool water flows a little onward there.

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.

Not thither

COMATAS.

here are oaks and galingale;

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.