Greek Texts & Translations

COMATAS
5.41 When I was poking you and you were sore; and these she-kids were bleating and the billy-goat bored into them.

LACON
5.43 I hope you won’t be buried, hunchback, deeper that polang! But a truce, man; hither, come thou hither, and thou shalt sing thy country-song for the last time.

COMATAS
5.45 Thither will I never come. Here I have oaks and cyperus, and bees humming bravely at the hives, here’s two springs of cool water to thy one, and birds, not locusts, a-babbling upon the tree, and, for shade, thine’s not half so good; and what’s more the pine overhead is casting her nuts.

LACON
5.50 An you’ll come here, I’ll lay you shall tread lambskins and sheep’s wool as soft as sleep. Those buckgoat-pelts of thine smell e’en ranker than thou. And I’ll set up a great bowl of whitest milk to the Nymphs, and eke I’ll set up another of sweetest oil.

COMATAS
5.55 If come you do, you shall tread here taper fern and organy all a-blowing, and for your lying down there’s she-goat-skins four times as soft as those lambskins of thine. And I’ll set up to Pan eight pails of milk and eke eight pots of full honey-combs.

LACON
5.60 Go to; be where you will for me for the match o’ country-song. Go your own gate; you’re welcome to your oaks. But who’s to be our judge, say who? Would God neatherd Lycopas might come this way along.

COMATAS
5.63 I suffer no want of him. We’ll holla rather, an’t pleas ye, on yon woodcutter that is after fuel in the heather near where you be. Morson it is.

LACON
We will.

COMATAS
Call him, you.

LACON
5.66 Ho, friend! hither and lend us your ears awhile. We two have a match toward, to see who’s the better man at a country-song. (Morson approaches) Be you fair, good Morson; neither judge me out of favour nor yet be too kind to him.

COMATAS
5.70 ‘Fore the Nymphs, sweet Morson, pray you neither rule unto Comatas more than his due nor yet give your favour to Lacon. This flock o’ sheep, look you, is Sibyrtas’ of Thurii.

LACON
5.74 Zeus! and who asked thee, foul knave, ^note whether the flock was mine or Sibyrtas’? Lord, what a babbler is here!

COMATAS
5.76 Most excellent blockhead, all I say, I, is true, though for my part, I’m no braggart; but Lord! what a railer is here!

LACON
5.78 Come, come; say thy say and be done, and let’s suffer friend Morson to come off with his life. Apollo save us, Comatas! thou hast the gift o’ the gab.

(The Singing Match)

COMATAS
5.80 The Muses bear me greater love than Daphnis ^note ere did see;
And well they may, for t’other day they had two goats for me.

LACON
5.82 But Apollo loves me all as well, and an offering too have I,
A fine fat ram a-batt’ning; for Apollo’s feast draws nigh.

COMATAS
5.84 Night all my goats have twins at teat; there’s only two with one;
And the damsel sees and the damsel says ‘Poor lad, dost milk alone?’

LACON
5.86 O tale of woe! here's Lacon, though, fills cheese-racks well-nigh twenty
And fouls his dear not a youth but a boy mid flowers that blow so plenty.

COMATAS
5.88 But when her goatherd boy goes by you should see my Cleärist
Fling apples, and her pretty lips call pouting to be kissed.

LACON
5.90 But madness ‘tis for the shepherd to meet the shepherd’s love,
So brown and bright the tresses light that toss that shoulder above.

COMATAS
5.92 Ah! but there’s no comparing windflower with rose at all,
Nor wild dog-róse with her that blows beside the trim orchard’s wall.

LACON
5.94 There’s no better likeness, neither, ‘twixt fruit of pear ^note and holm;
The acorn savours flat and stale, the pear’s like honeycomb.

COMATAS
5.96 In yonder juniper-thicket a cushat sits on her nest;
I’ll go this day and fetch her away for the maiden I love best.

LACON
5.98 So soon as e’er my sheep I shear, a rare fine gift I’ll take;
I’ll give yon black ewe’s pretty coat my darling’s cloak to make.

COMATAS
5.100 Hey, bleaters! away from the olive; where would be grazing then?
Your pasture’s where the tamarisk grows and the slope hill drops to the glen.

LACON
5.102 Where are ye browsing, Crumple? and, Browning, where are ye?
Graze up the hill as Piebad will, and let the oak-leaves be.

COMATAS
5.104 I’ve laid up a piggin of cypress-wood and a bowl for mixing wine,
The work of great Praxiteles, ^note both for that lass of mine.

LACON