The Idyllia, Epigrams, and Fragments, of Theocritus, Bion, and Moschus with the Elegies of Tyrtaeus, Translated from the Greek into English Verse. To which are Added, Dissertations and Notes. By the Rev. Richard Polwhele |
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| XIV. | IDYLLIUM the FOURTEENTH. CYNISCA's LOVE. |
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 | The Idyllia, Epigrams, and Fragments, of Theocritus, Bion, and Moschus |  |
107
IDYLLIUM the FOURTEENTH. CYNISCA's LOVE.
ÆSCHINES and THYONICHUS.ÆSCHINES.
Good-Morrow, Thyonichus! welcome—
THYONICHUS.
Good-Morrow!
ÆSCHINES.
Well—I see you at last!
THYONICHUS.
What a Face, full of Sorrow!
ÆSCHINES.
Too true!
THYONICHUS.
So it seems, by your rough bushy Forehead,
Your Visage drawn out, and Mustachios so horrid!
I never, till Yesterday, saw such another—
A Beggar from Athens, in Leanness your Brother!
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Believe me, was also in Love—with a Bag of Grist!
ÆSCHINES.
My Friend you are jocular—I'm full of Woe—
The lovely Cynisca hath slighted me so!
Ah! nobody guesses what Pain I endure;
I'm scarce a Hair's-breadth from a Maniac I'm sure.
THYONICHUS.
I know you, my Friend—rough or smooth is your Brow,
As it happens—But what hath befallen you now?
ÆSCHINES.
Cleonicus and I, at a Villa of mine,
Met the Argive and Thessalan Jockey, to dine
On a roast Pig and Couple of Fowls I had kill'd—
When we heartily ate—and as heartily swill'd!
Alas! little thought I indeed of a Scrape;
While fragrant and brisk was the Juice of the Grape,
Tho' bottled four Years from the Vintage (the Savor
Of Cockles and Garlick enriching the Flavor.)
And now with our Toasts the full Bumpers were crown'd,
As the Name of each Mistress went merrily round.
109
Quoth the Jockey aside—‘Now I'll give her a Dressing—
‘Mute hath met with a Wolf, that no Word can escape her’—
How she flush'd! at her Face you might kindle a Taper!
It seems there's one Wolfe—very slender, in Truth,
Tho' cried up, as a handsome and delicate Youth!
With him long ago she was smitten, I heard;
But I let the Thing lie, and still cherish'd my Beard.
In fine, we had all of us drank, and were mellow—
When the Jockey, arch Apis, a mischievous Fellow,
Struck up, on a sudden, a frolicsome Ditty,
Of ‘Wolfe who was lovely and sighing and pretty!’
Like an Infant she sobb'd—when, in violent Pique,
(You know me) I hit her a Blow on the Cheek!
Then, swelling with Passion, I hit her another—
I shall never forget—'twas so horrid a Pother!
And ‘Mischief! (said I) was I right in my Fears?
‘Begone, nor insult me! a Curse on thy Tears!’
Quick-rising, she gather'd her Vest in a Knot,
And fleet, as from under the Roof of a Cot
110
Skims around, for another Provision of Food;
She flew from her Chair, in a frantic Disorder,
Glided over the Lobby; and then thro' the Foredoor
Glanc'd away—sure the Proverb is true to my Cost—
‘The Bull in the midst of the Thicket is lost!’
Two Months will to-morrow be gone, since I've seen her—
Since here I've been sighing—‘How fatal a Dinner!’
And never, alas! from that terrible Day, Sir,
Hath my Beard (like a Thracian's) felt Edge of a Razor!
Ever since hath she liv'd Day and Night with her Wolfe,
Regardless of me a poor Shade, or the Gulf
Into which she has plung'd me! I wish I could hate her,
And rise, over Head as I am—in Love-water.
Like the Mouse that hath bitten the Pitch I complain,
Attempting to swallow the Morsel in vain.
Thyonichus, what shall I do, to get rid
Of my Passion? I'll do as my Neighbour Sim did!
You know, tho' he lov'd the proud Girl to Distraction,
He enlisted—and fought away Love in an Action!
111
To fight it away, am resolv'd to enlist!
THYONICHUS.
I wish thee Success with the little wing'd God!
But, if thou'rt determin'd on Warfare abroad,
King Ptolemy, best of all Kings, I engage, is
Full ready, my Boy, to reward thee with Wages.
ÆSCHINES.
Is he generous?
THYONICHUS.
He boasts a benevolent Spirit,
Attach'd to the Freeborn, encouraging Merit!
Good-nature and Courtesy welcome the Guest;
And Pleasantry adds to his Dainties a Zest:
Yet whilst for his Friends Generosity shapes him,
Believe me, an Enemy never escapes him.
He gives like a Monarch, nor ever refuses—
Besides, he's the Patron and Boast of the Muses!
Go therefore (thy Love swallow'd up by Ambition)
To Ægypt, and offer a modest Petition!
112
To meet the fierce Phalanx stand bolder and bolder;
But hasten—In Life there's no Room for Delay—
Ev'n now, my dear Boy, we begin to decay!
Age silvers the Brow, to the Cheeks stealing on—
'Tis in Vigor of Youth that the Battle is won!
| The Idyllia, Epigrams, and Fragments, of Theocritus, Bion, and Moschus | |