The Idylliums of Theocritus :: :: University of Virginia Library

This Idyllium is of the dramatic kind: Comates a goatherd, and Lacon a shepherd, after exchanging some very coarse railleries, a true image of vulgar freedom, contend in singing. The beauty of this piece consists in that air of simplicity in which the shepherds are painted; full of themselves, boastful of favours received, and making sudden transitions agreeable to the desultory genius of uncivilized nature.

COMATES.
My goats, of Lacon, Sybarite base, take heed;
He stole my goatskin—at a distance feed.

LACON.
Fly, fly, my lambs, these springs—nor longer stay,
Comates comes who stole my flute away.

COMATES.
What flute, thou servile, Sybaritic brute!
Pray when wast thou e'er master of a flute?
'Twas all thy pride, with Corydon, to draw
The rustic rout with scrannel pipes of straw.

LACON.
The flute which Lycon gave me frank and free:
But pray, what goatskin did I steal from thee?
What goatskin e'er hadst thou, thou lubber lout?
It is well known thy master sleeps without.

COMATES.
What Crocylus bestow'd, of special note,
When to the nymphs he sacrific'd a goat;
Thou envied'st me the present, and by theft
Hast basely of the speckled pelt bereft.

LACON.
I stole it not, I swear by mighty Pan;
Comates, thou'rt mistaken in thy man;
Or may I, seiz'd with instant frenzy, leap
Headlong from this high rock into the deep.

COMATES.
Thy flute I stole not; by the nymphs I swear,
The fountain-nymphs, to me for ever dear.

LACON.
If I believe thee, goatherd, may I prove
The desperate pains of Daphnis, pin'd with love:
Nought now is sacred—yet a kid stake down,
Thou'lt find my skill superior to thy own.

COMATES.
A sow Minerva brav'd: for singing's sake,
I'll lay a kid, if thou a lamb wilt stake.

LACON.
Ah sly old fox! but how can this be fair?
For good sheep's wool who ever sheer'd goat's hair?
What booby, blown to folly's utmost pitch,
E'er left an udder'd goat to milk a bitch?

COMATES.
He that's as sure, as thou art to excell,
Though wasps may sing with grashoppers as well:
But lest thou turn thy challenge to a flam,
I'll stake this full-grown goat against thy lamb.

LACON.
Soft, hasty goatherd! let us hence remove
To yon wild olive-shade beside the grove;
There sing thy best, while in pure streams below,
Grateful to swains, the cooling fountains flow;
There spring sweet herbs, soft couches wait thy choice,
And there the sprightly grashoppers rejoice.

COMATES.
Hasty I'm not, but greatly vex'd at heart
That thou dar'st brave thy teacher at his art;
Requital base!—Breed hounds, or wolf-whelps breed,
Ungrateful, they'll devour you for the deed.

LACON.
Ye goatherds love beyond the truth to stretch;
When learnt I ought of thee, invidious wretch?
But, come, vain boaster, to the grove along,
No more thou'lt challenge shepherds at the song.

COMATES.
Here rest we; lo! cyperus decks the ground,
Oaks lend their shade, and sweet bees murmur round
Their honied hives; here two cool fountains spring;
Here merrily the birds on branches sing;
Here pines in clusters more umbrageous grow,
Wave high their heads, and scatter cones below.

LACON.
With me retreat, where skins of lambs I keep,
Whose wool's a pillow softer far than sleep:
Thy goat-skins ill with cleanliness agree,
So rank they smell, nay rather worse than thee.
There to the nymphs I'll crown, delightful toil!
One bowl of milk, and one of sweetest oil.

COMATES.
Retire with me to more sequester'd bowers,
There thou shalt rest on fern, and fragrant flowers;
O'er these the skins of tender kids I'll spread,
A softer far than thine and sweeter bed:
Eight bowls of milk to Pan, great god, shall foam,
And eight of honey, and the honey-comb.

LACON.
Agreed: the contest lest thou shouldst evade,
I'll wait thy summons at thy oaken shade.

Who shall decide the honours of the day?
Perhaps Lycopas is not far away.

COMATES.
No need of him for judge; for here's as good,
Morson the keeper of thy master's wood;
He's cleaving faggots.

LACON.
Call the woodman near.

COMATES.
Call him thyself, for thou canst make him hear.

LACON.
Friend, hither haste while we in song contest,
And judge impartial who performs the best.

COMATES.
Let merit only thy just judgment guide,
Lean not to mine, or favour Lacon's side.
Thurius commits to Lacon's care his sheep;
Eumara's goats of Sybaris I keep.

LACON.
Who ask'd thee, goatherd, of thy tongue too free,
Whether the flock belong'd to him or me?

COMATES.
By Jove, I vow the simple truth I've told;
But thou grow'st vain, and scurrilously bold.

LACON.
Sing on, proud swain, nor thus consume thy breath;
But not, like Sirens, sing thy judge to death.

COMATES.
Me more than Daphnis the chaste Muses love;
Two kids I offer'd in their laurel grove.

LACON.
Me Phœbus loves, for him a ram I feed,
Which at the next Carnean feast shall bleed.

COMATES.
Twin-bearing goats I milk; “Ah, hapless swain,
“Alcippe cries, do'st thou their udders drain?”

LACON.
Full twenty presses I with cheese can fill,
And have a love-intrigue whene'er I will.

COMATES.
Gay Clearista, when perchance we meet,
Pelts me with apples, and says something sweet.

LACON.
Young Cratidas inspires my heart to glow,
For down his comely neck the lovely tresses flow.

COMATES.
Can dog-briar, or anemonies that bloom
In hedges, match with roses in perfume?

LACON.
Can acorns crude, whose coat is rough and dry,
With the soft fruitage of the chesnut vye?

COMATES.
In yonder juniper there broods a dove,
The young, when fledg'd, I'll carry to my love.

LACON.
Soft wool to weave a garment, if I live
To sheer my sheep, to Cratidas I'll give.

COMATES.
Leave those wild olives, kids, and feed below,
Where the rough tamarisks luxuriant grow.

LACON.
Conarus, Cymy, leave those oak-crown'd meads,
And pasture eastward, where the white ram feeds.

COMATES.
A cypress pail is mine, and sculptur'd bowl,
I'll keep them for the charmer of my soul.

LACON.
This wolf-dog, to his flock and master true,
I'll give my boy, the wild beasts to pursue.

COMATES.
Ye prowling locusts, that devour my fruits,
Touch not my vines, for tender are the shoots.

LACON.
Ye grashoppers, how I this goatherd vex!
Thus you the reapers of the field perplex.

COMATES.
I hate the brush-tail foxes, that by night
Steal Myco's grapes, and then escape by flight.

LACON.
I hate dull beetles, that devour for prey
Philonda's figs, then buzzing wheel away.

COMATES.
Have you forgot, when once beneath my stroke,
You writh'd with pain, and ran to yonder oak?

LACON.
Yes, faith! but when Eumara lash'd thee well,
And bound with thongs, I readily can tell.

COMATES.
Morson, who's angry now?—Go, frantic swain,
Go, gather squills to calm your ruffled brain.

LACON.
Morson, I've nettled somebody full sore—
Go, gather sowbread, and be mad no more.

COMATES.
May Himera with milk, and Crathis flow
With wine, and fruit on plants aquatic grow.

LACON.
May Sybaris with honey-streams distill,
And maids each morn their urns with honey fill.

COMATES.
My goats on cytisus and wild oats browse,
And rest on arbutus and lentisck boughs.

LACON.
With fragrant balm my sheep are daily fed,
And ivy mixt with roses is their bed.

COMATES.
Alcippe charms not, though I sent a dove,
She neither prest my ears, nor kiss'd me for my love.

LACON.
I love with warmest ardor young Eumede,
Who gave me kisses for a pastoral reed.

COMATES.
Can pies contend with nightingales? the owl
With swans? but you love discord at your soul.

MORSON.
Cease, Lacon, cease thy song; for I decree
The lamb, Comates, as thy due, to thee:
Go, to the nymphs the welcome offering make,
And let thy Morson of the feast partake.

COMATES.
By mighty Pan, thou shalt, auspicious boy;
See how my goats leap wantonly for joy!
I too will leap, victorious as I am,
And laugh at Lacon, since I've gain'd the lamb.
Rejoice, my kids, for in the cooling wave
Of Sybaris to-morrow ye shall lave.

Yon butting, wanton goat I must forbid,
Till I have sacrific'd, to touch a kid—
What ruttish still!—your courage I'll abate,
Or may I suffer poor Melanthius' fate.