Damoetas

Well, was heWhom I had conquered still to keep the goat.Which in the piping-match my pipe had won!You may not know it, but the goat was mine.

You out-pipe him? when had you ever pipeWax-welded? in the cross-ways used you notOn grating straw some miserable tuneTo mangle?

Well, then, shall we try our skillEach against each in turn? Lest you be loth,I pledge this heifer; every day she comesTwice to the milking-pail, and feeds withalTwo young ones at her udder: say you nowWhat you will stake upon the match with me.

Naught from the flock I'll venture, for at homeI have a father and a step-dame harsh,And twice a day both reckon up the flock,And one withal the kids. But I will stake,Seeing you are so mad, what you yourselfWill own more priceless far- two beechen cupsBy the divine art of AlcimedonWrought and embossed, whereon a limber vine,Wreathed round them by the graver's facile tool,Twines over clustering ivy-berries pale.Two figures, one Conon, in the midst he set,And one- how call you him, who with his wandMarked out for all men the whole round of heaven,That they who reap, or stoop behind the plough,Might know their several seasons? Nor as yetHave I set lip to them, but lay them by.

For me too wrought the same AlcimedonA pair of cups, and round the handles wreathedPliant acanthus, Orpheus in the midst,The forests following in his wake; nor yetHave I set lip to them, but lay them by.Matched with a heifer, who would prate of cups?

You shall not balk me now; where'er you bid,I shall be with you; only let us haveFor auditor- or see, to serve our turn,Yonder Palaemon comes! In singing-boutsI'll see you play the challenger no more.

Out then with what you have; I shall not shrink,Nor budge for any man: only do you,Neighbour Palaemon, with your whole heart's skill-For it is no slight matter-play your part.

Say on then, since on the greensward we sit,And now is burgeoning both field and tree;Now is the forest green, and now the yearAt fairest. Do you first, Damoetas, sing,Then you, Menalcas, in alternate strain:Alternate strains are to the Muses dear.

"From Jove the Muse began; Jove filleth all,Makes the earth fruitful, for my songs hath care."

"Me Phoebus loves; for Phoebus his own gifts,Bays and sweet-blushing hyacinths, I keep."

"Gay Galatea throws an apple at me,Then hies to the willows, hoping to be seen."

"My dear Amyntas comes unasked to me;Not Delia to my dogs is better known."

"Gifts for my love I've found; mine eyes have markedWhere the wood-pigeons build their airy nests."

"Ten golden apples have I sent my boy,All that I could, to-morrow as many more."

"What words to me, and uttered O how oft,Hath Galatea spoke! waft some of them,Ye winds, I pray you, for the gods to hear."

"It profiteth me naught, Amyntas mine,That in your very heart you spurn me not,If, while you hunt the boar, I guard the nets."

"Prithee, Iollas, for my birthday guestSend me your Phyllis; when for the young cropsI slay my heifer, you yourself shall come."

"I am all hers; she wept to see me go,And, lingering on the word, 'farewell' she said,'My beautiful Iollas, fare you well.'"

"Fell as the wolf is to the folded flock,Rain to ripe corn, Sirocco to the trees,The wrath of Amaryllis is to me."

"As moisture to the corn, to ewes with youngLithe willow, as arbute to the yeanling kids,So sweet Amyntas, and none else, to me."

"My Muse, although she be but country-bred,Is loved by Pollio: O Pierian Maids,Pray you, a heifer for your reader feed!"

"Pollio himself too doth new verses make:Feed ye a bull now ripe to butt with horn,And scatter with his hooves the flying sand."

"Who loves thee, Pollio, may he thither comeWhere thee he joys beholding; ay, for himLet honey flow, the thorn-bush spices bear."

"Who hates not Bavius, let him also loveThy songs, O Maevius, ay, and therewithalYoke foxes to his car, and he-goats milk."

"You, picking flowers and strawberries that growSo near the ground, fly hence, boys, get you gone!There's a cold adder lurking in the grass."

"Forbear, my sheep, to tread too near the brink;Yon bank is ill to trust to; even nowThe ram himself, see, dries his dripping fleece!"

"Back with the she-goats, Tityrus, grazing thereSo near the river! I, when time shall serve,Will take them all, and wash them in the pool."

"Boys, get your sheep together; if the heat,As late it did, forestall us with the milk,Vainly the dried-up udders shall we wring."

"How lean my bull amid the fattening vetch!Alack! alack! for herdsman and for herd!It is the self-same love that wastes us both."

"These truly- nor is even love the cause-Scarce have the flesh to keep their bones togetherSome evil eye my lambkins hath bewitched."

"Say in what clime- and you shall be withalMy great Apollo- the whole breadth of heavenOpens no wider than three ells to view."

"Say in what country grow such flowers as bearThe names of kings upon their petals writ,And you shall have fair Phyllis for your own."

Not mine betwixt such rivals to decide:You well deserve the heifer, so does he,With all who either fear the sweets of love,Or taste its bitterness. Now, boys, shut offThe sluices, for the fields have drunk their fill.