Greek Texts & Translations

The characters of this pastoral mime are two reapers, Milon, the man of experience, and Bucaeus, called also Buscus, the lovesick youth. The conversation takes place in the course of their reaping, and leads to a love-song from the lover and a reaping-song from his kindly mentor. When Milon calls his song the song of the divine Lityerses he is using a generic term. There was at least one traditional reaping-song which told how Lityerses, son of Midas, of Celaenae in Phrygia, after entertaining strangers hospitably, made them reap with him till evening, when he cut off their heads and hid their bodies in the sheaves. This apparently gave the name to all reaping-songs. Milon’s song, after a prayer to Demeter, addresses itself in succession to binders, threshers, and reapers, and lastly to the steward. Both songs are supposed to be impromptu, and sung as the men reap on.

MILON
10.1 Husbandman Bucaeus, what ails ye now, good drudge? you neither can cut your swath straight as once you did, nor keep time in your reaping with your neighbour. You’re left behind by the flock like a ewe with a thorn in her foot. How will it be wi’ you when noon is past and day o’ the wane, if thus early you make not a clean bite o’ your furrow?

BUCAEUS
10.7 Good master early-and-late-wi’-sickle, good Sire chip-o’-the-flint, good Milon, hath it never befallen thee to wish for one that is away?

MILON
10.9 Never, i' faith; what has a clown like me to do with wishing where there’s no getting?

BUCAEUS
10.10 Then hath it never befallen thee to lie awake o’ nights for love?

MILON
10.11 Nay, and god forbid it should. ‘Tis ill letting the dog taste pudding.

BUCAEUS
10.12 But I’ve been in love, Milon, the better part of ten days; –

MILON
10.13 Then ‘tis manifest thou draw’st thy wine from the hogshead the while I am short of vinegar-water.

BUCAEUS
10.14 – And so it is that the land at my very door since was seed-time ^note hath not felt hoe.

MILON
10.15 And which o’ the lasses is they undoing?

BUCAEUS
10.16 ‘Tis Polybotas’ daughter, she that was at Hippocion’s t’other day a-piping to the reapers.

MILON
10.17 Lord! thy sin hath found thee out. Thou’dst wished and wished, and now, ‘faith, thou’st won. There’ll be a locust to clasp thee all night long.

BUCAEUS
10.19 Thou bid’st fair to play me fault-finder. But there’s blind men in heaven besides Him o’ the Money-bags, fool Cupid for one. So prithee talk not so big.

MILON
10.21 I talk not big, not I; pray be content, go thou on wi’ thy laying o’ the field, and strike up a song o’ love to thy leman. ‘Twill sweeten thy toil. Marry, I know thou wast a singer once.

BUCAEUS (sings)
10.24 Pierian Muses, join with me a slender lass to sing;
For all ye Ladies take in hand ye make a pretty thing.
Bombyca fair, to other folk you may a Gipsy ^note be;
Sunburnt and lean they call you; you’re honey-brown to me.
Of flowers the violet’s dark, and dark the lettered flag-flower tall,
But when there’s nosegays making they choose them first of all.
Dame Goat pursues the clover, Gray Wolf doth goat pursue,
Sir Stork pursues the plough; and I – O! I am wild for you,
Would all old Croesus had were mine! O then we’ld figured be
In good red gold for offerings rare before the Love-Ladye,
You with your pipes, a rose in hand or apple, I bedight
Above with mantle fine, below, new buskins left and right.
Bombyca fair, your pretty feet are knucklebones, ^note and O!
Your voice is poppy, but your ways – they pass my power to show.

MILON
10.38 Marry, ‘twas no ‘prentice hand after all. Mark how cunningly he shaped his tune! Alackaday what a dolt ^note was I to get me a beard! But come hear this of the divine Lityerses:

10.42 (sings) Demeter, Queen of fruit and ear, bless O bless our field;
Grant our increase greatest be that toil therein may yield.
Grip tight your sheaves, good Binders all, or passerby will say
‘These be men of elder-wood ^note; more wages thrown away.’
‘Twixt Northwind and Westwind let straws endlong be laid;
The breeze runs up the hollow and the ear is plumper made.
For Threshers, lads, the noontide nap’s a nap beside the law.
For noontide’s the best tide for making chaff of straw;
But Reapers they are up wi’ the lark, and with the lark to bed;
To rest the heat o’ the day, stands Reapers in good stead.
And ‘tis O to be a frog, ^note my lands, and live aloof from care!
He needs no drawer to his drink; ‘tis plenty everywhere.
Fie, fie, Sir Steward! Better beans, an’t please ye, another day;
Thou’lt cut thy finger, niggard, a-splitting caraway.

10.56 That’s the sort o’ song for such as work i' the sun; but the starveling love-ditty o’ thine, Bucaeus, would make brave telling to thy mammy abed of a morning.