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Updated: August 5, 2024
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.
Corydon removes a thorn that has run into his friend's foot, and the conversation comes back to matters of rural scandal. The scene is in Southern Italy. Battus. Tell me, Corydon, whose kine are these, the cattle of Philondas? Corydon. Nay, they are Aegon's, he gave me them to pasture. Battus. Dost thou ever find a way to milk them all, on the sly, just before evening? Corydon.
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