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Lacon. Nay, nor wild apples to acorns, for acorns are bitter in the oaken rind, but apples are sweet as honey. Comatas. Soon will I give my maiden a ring-dove for a gift; I will take it from the juniper tree, for there it is brooding. Lacon. But I will give my darling a soft fleece to make a cloak, a free gift, when I shear the black ewe. Comatas.
Thence, where thou art, I pray thee, begin the match, and there sing thy country song, tread thine own ground and keep thine oaks to thyself. But who, who shall judge between us? Would that Lycopas, the neatherd, might chance to come this way! Comatas. I want nothing with him, but that man, if thou wilt, that woodcutter we will call, who is gathering those tufts of heather near thee. It is Morson.
We have had many a rural bard since Theocritus 'watched the visionary flocks, but you are the only one of them all who has spoken the sincere Doric. Yours is the talk of the byre and the plough-tail; yours is that large utterance of the early hinds. Even Theocritus minces matters, save where Lacon and Comatas quite outdo the swains of Ayrshire.
Yes, dear Morson, for the nymphs' sake neither lean in thy judgment to Comatas, nor, prithee, favour HIM. The flock of sheep thou seest here belongs to Sibyrtas of Thurii, and the goats, friend, that thou beholdest are the goats of Eumarides of Sybaris. Lacon. Now, in the name of Zeus did any one ask thee, thou make- mischief, who owned the flock, I or Sibyrtas? What a chatterer thou art!
"Ah, would that in my days thou hadst been numbered with the living, how gladly on the hills would I have herded thy pretty she-goats, and listened to thy voice, whilst thou, under oaks and pine-trees lying, didst sweetly sing, divine Comatas!"
Nay, but lambs' wool, truly, and fleeces, shalt thou tread here, if thou wilt but come, fleeces more soft than sleep, but the goat-skins beside thee stink worse than thyself. And I will set a great bowl of white milk for the nymphs, and another will I offer of sweet olive oil. Comatas.
Comatas. 'Twas the skin that Crocylus gave me, the dappled one, when he sacrificed the she-goat to the nymphs; but thou, wretch, even then wert wasting with envy, and now, at last, thou hast stripped me bare! Lacon. Nay verily, so help me Pan of the seashore, it was not Lacon the son of Calaethis that filched the coat of skin. If I lie, sirrah, may I leap frenzied down this rock into the Crathis!
I hate the foxes, with their bushy brushes, that ever come at evening, and eat the grapes of Micon. Lacon. And I hate the lady-birds that devour the figs of Philondas, and flit down the wind. Comatas. Dost thou not remember how I cudgelled thee, and thou didst grin and nimbly writhe, and catch hold of yonder oak? Lacon.
Ah, would that in my days thou hadst been numbered with the living, how gladly on the hills would I have herded thy pretty she-goats, and listened to thy voice, whilst thou, under oaks or pine trees lying, didst sweetly sing, divine Comatas! When he had chanted thus much he ceased, and I followed after him again, with some such words as these:
Comatas. Best of men, I am for speaking the whole truth, and boasting never, but thou art too fond of cutting speeches. Lacon. Come, say whatever thou hast to say, and let the stranger get home to the city alive; oh, Paean, what a babbler thou art, Comatas! Comatas. The Muses love me better far than the minstrel Daphnis; but a little while ago I sacrificed two young she-goats to the Muses. Lacon.
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