Greek Texts & Translations

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.