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Updated: May 23, 2025
What manner of pipe might that be, for when gat'st THOU a pipe, thou slave of Sibyrtas? Why does it no more suffice thee to keep a flute of straw, and whistle with Corydon? Lacon. What pipe, free sir? why, the pipe that Lycon gave me. And what manner of goat-skin hadst thou, that Lacon made off with? Tell me, Comatas, for truly even thy master, Eumarides, had never a goat- skin to sleep in.
O blessed Comatas, surely these joyful things befell thee, and thou wast enclosed within the chest, and feeding on the honeycomb through the springtime didst thou serve out thy bondage.
Forth from the wild olive, my bleating she-goats, feed here where the hillside slopes, and the tamarisks grove. Lacon. Conarus there, and Cynaetha, will you never leave the oak? Graze here, where Phalarus feeds, where the hillside fronts the dawn. Comatas. Ay, and I have a vessel of cypress wood, and a mixing bowl, the work of Praxiteles, and I hoard them for my maiden. Lacon.
And they with naked feet and looks askance come homewards, and sorely they upbraid me when they have gone on a vain journey, and listless again in the bottom of their empty coffer they dwell with heads bowed over their chilly knees, where is their drear abode, when portionless they return. How far happier was the prisoned goat-herd, Comatas, in the fragrant cedar chest where the blunt-faced bees from the meadow fed him with food of tender flowers, because still the Muse dropped sweet nectar on his lips!
My goats eat cytisus, and goatswort, and tread the lentisk shoots, and lie at ease among the arbutus. Lacon. But my ewes have honey-wort to feed on, and luxuriant creepers flower around, as fair as roses. Comatas. I love not Alcippe, for yesterday she did not kiss me, and take my face between her hands, when I gave her the dove. Lacon.
But deeply I love my darling, for a kind kiss once I got, in return for the gift of a shepherd's pipe. Comatas. Lacon, it never was right that pyes should contend with the nightingale, nor hoopoes with swans, but thou, unhappy swain, art ever for contention. Morson's Judgement. I bid the shepherd cease. But to thee, Comatas, Morson presents the lamb.
But come this way, come, and thou shalt sing thy last of country song. Comatas. That way I will not go! Here be oak trees, and here the galingale, and sweetly here hum the bees about the hives. There are two wells of chill water, and on the tree the birds are warbling, and the shadow is beyond compare with that where thou liest, and from on high the pine tree pelts us with her cones. Lacon.
Yea, and me too Apollo loves very dearly, and a noble ram I rear for Apollo, for the feast of the Carnea, look you, is drawing nigh. Comatas. The she-goats that I milk have all borne twins save two. The maiden saw me, and 'alas, she cried, 'dost thou milk alone? Lacon. Ah, ah, but Lacon here hath nigh twenty baskets full of cheese, and Lacon lies with his darling in the flowers! Comatas.
There the Muses met thee, and the Nymphs, and there Apollo, remembering his old thraldom with Admetus, would lead once more a mortal's flocks, and listen and learn, Theocritus, while thou, like thine own Comatas, 'didst sweetly sing.
Take heart, my horned goats, to-morrow I will dip you all in the fountain of Sybaris. Thou white he-goat, I will beat thee if thou dare to touch one of the herd before I sacrifice the lamb to the nymphs. There he is at it again! Call me Melanthius, not Comatas, if I do not cudgel thee.
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