The Goatherd and the Shepherd
COMATAS
Beware, good my goats, of yonder shepherd from Sybaris, beware of Lacon; he stole my skin-coat yesterday.
LACON
Hey up! my pretty lambkins; away from the spring. See you not Comatas that stole my pipe two days agone?
COMATAS
Pipe? Sibyrtas' bondman possessed of a pipe? he that was content to sit with Corydon and toot upon a parcel o' straws?
LACON
Yes, master freeman, the pipe Lycon gave me. And as for your skin-coat, what skin-coat and when has ever Lacon carried off o' yours? Tell me that, Comatas; why, your lord Eumaras, let alone his bondman, never had one even to sleep in.
COMATAS
'Tis that Crocylus gave me, the dapple skin, after that he sacrificed that she-goat to the Nymphs. And as your foul envious eyes watered for it then, so your foul envious hands have bid me go henceforth naked now.
LACON
Nay, nay, by Pan o' the Shore; Lacon son of Cylaethis never filched coat of thine, fellow, may I run raving mad else and leap into the Crathis from yonder rock.
COMATAS
No, no, by these Nymphs o' the lake, man; so surely as I wish em kind and propitious, Comatas never laid sneaking hand on pipe o' thine.
LACON
Heaven send me the affliction of Daphnis if e'er I believe that tale. But enough of this; if thou'lt wage me a kid — 'tis not worth the candle, but nevertheless come on; I'll have a contention o' song with thee till thou cry hold.
COMATAS
'Tis the old story — teach thy grandam. There; my wage is laid. And thou, for thine, lay me thy fine fat lamb against it.
LACON
Thou fox! prithee how shall such laying fadge? As well might one shear himself hair when a might have wool, as well choose to milk a foul bitch before a young milch-goat.
COMATAS
He that's as sure as thou that he'll vanquish his neighbour is like the wasp buzzing against the cricket's song. But 'tis all one; my kid it seems is no fair stake. So look, I lay thee this full-grown he-goat; and now begin.
LACON
Soft, soft; no fire's burning thee. You'll sing better sitting under the wild olive and this coppice. There's cool water falling yonder, and here's grass and a greenbed, and the locusts at their prattling.
COMATAS
I'm in no haste, not I, but in sorrow rather that you dare look me in the face, I that had the teaching of you when you were but a child. Lord! look where kindness goes. Nurse a wolf-cub, — nay rather, nurse a puppy-dog — to be eaten for't.
LACON
And when, pray, do I mind me to have learnt or heard aught of good from thee? Fie upon thee for a mere envious and churlish piece of a man!
COMATAS
Cum ego te paedicabam, tuque dolebas et capellae balabant et caper eas terebrabat.
LACON
Utinam ne ista paedicatione, gibber, profundius sepeliaris! But a truce, man; hither, come thou hither, and thou shalt sing thy country-song for the last time.
COMATAS
Thither will I never come. Here I have oaks and bedstraw, 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
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
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
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
I suffer no want of him. We'll holla rather, an't please 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
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
'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
Zeus! and who asked thee, foul knave, whether the flock was mine or Sibyrtas'? Lord, what a babbler is here!
COMATAS
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
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
The Muses bear me greater love than Daphnis ere did see;
And well they may, for t'other day they had two goats of me.
LACON
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
Nigh 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
O tale of woe! here's Lacon, though, fills cheese-racks well-nigh twenty
And lies, good hap! in his leman's lap mid flowers that blow so plenty.
COMATAS
But when her goatherd boy goes by you should see my Cleärist
Fling apples, and her pretty lips call pouting to be kissed.
LACON
But madness 'tis for the shepherd to meet the shepherd's love,
So brown and bright are the tresses light that toss that shoulder above.
COMATAS
Ah! but there's no comparing windflower with rose at all,
Nor wild dog-rose with her that blows beside the trim orchard's-wall.
LACON
There's no better likeness, neither, 'twixt fruit of pear and holm;
The acorn savours flat and stale, the pear's like honeycomb.
COMATAS
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
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
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
Where are ye browsing, Crumple? and, Browning, where are ye?
Graze up the hill as Piebald will, and let the oak-leaves be.
COMATAS
I've laid up a piggin of cypress-wood and a bowl for mixing wine,
The work of great Praxiteles, both for that lass of mine.
LACON
And I, I have a flock-dog, a wolver of good fame,
Shall go a gift to my dearest and hunt him all manner of game.
COMATAS
Avaunt, avaunt, ye locusts o'er master's fence that spring;
These be none of your common vines; have done your ravaging.
LACON
See, crickets, see how vexed he be! see master Goatherd boiling!
'Tis even so you vex, I trow, the reapers at their toiling.
COMATAS
I hate the brush-tail foxes, that soon as day declines
Come creeping to their vintaging mid goodman Micon's vines.
LACON
So too I hate the beetles come riding on the breeze,
Guttle Philondas choicest figs, and off as quick as you please.
COMATAS
Num oblitus es tum, cum ego te percutiebam, quam pulchre mihi tu tuam caudam iactaveris ringens et quercui illi adhaerens?
LACON
Istud quidem non ego memini; at tum, cum hic te Eumaras alligatum depectebat, quid acciderit probe scio.
COMATAS
Somebody's waxing wild, Morson; see you not what is plain?
Go pluck him squills from an oldwife's grave to cool his heated brain.
LACON
Nay, I be nettling somebody; what needs it you to tell?
Be off to Haleis' bank, Morson, and dig him an earth-apple.
COMATAS
Let Himera's stream run white with cream, and Crathis, as for thine,
Mid apple-bearing beds of reed may it run red with wine.
LACON
Let Sybaris' well spring honey for me, and ere the sun is up
May the wench that goes for water draw honeycombs for my cup.
COMATAS
My goats eat goat-grass, mine, and browze upon the clover,
Tread mastich green and lie between the arbutes waving over.
LACON
It may be so, but I'ld have ye know these pretty sheep of mine
Browze rock-roses in plenty and sweet as eglantine.
COMATAS
When I brought the cushat 'tother night 'tis true Alcippa kissed me,
But alack! she forgot to kiss by the pot, and since, poor wench, she's missed me.
LACON
When fair Eumedes took the pipe that was his lover's token
He kissed him sweet as sweet could be; his lover's love's unbroken.
COMATAS
'Tis nature's law that no jackdaw with nightingale shall bicker,
Nor owl with swan, but poor Lacon was born a quarrel-picker.
MORSON
I bid the shepherd cease. You, Comatas, may take the lamb; and when you offer her to the Nymphs be sure you presently send poor Morson a well-laden platter.
COMATAS
That will I, 'fore Pan. Come, snort ye, my merry buck-goats all. Look you how great a laugh I have of shepherd Lacon for that I have at last achieved the lamb. Troth, I'll caper you to the welkin. Good she-goats mine, frisk it and be merry; tomorrow I'll wash you one and all in Sybaris lake. What, Whitecoat, thou wanton! if thou leave not meddling with the she's, before ever I sacrifice the lamb to the Nymphs I'll break every bone in thy body. Lo there! he's at it again. If I break thee not, be my last end the end of Melanthius.
Beware, good my goats, of yonder shepherd from Sybaris, beware of Lacon; he stole my skin-coat yesterday.
LACON
Hey up! my pretty lambkins; away from the spring. See you not Comatas that stole my pipe two days agone?
COMATAS
Pipe? Sibyrtas' bondman possessed of a pipe? he that was content to sit with Corydon and toot upon a parcel o' straws?
LACON
Yes, master freeman, the pipe Lycon gave me. And as for your skin-coat, what skin-coat and when has ever Lacon carried off o' yours? Tell me that, Comatas; why, your lord Eumaras, let alone his bondman, never had one even to sleep in.
COMATAS
'Tis that Crocylus gave me, the dapple skin, after that he sacrificed that she-goat to the Nymphs. And as your foul envious eyes watered for it then, so your foul envious hands have bid me go henceforth naked now.
LACON
Nay, nay, by Pan o' the Shore; Lacon son of Cylaethis never filched coat of thine, fellow, may I run raving mad else and leap into the Crathis from yonder rock.
COMATAS
No, no, by these Nymphs o' the lake, man; so surely as I wish em kind and propitious, Comatas never laid sneaking hand on pipe o' thine.
LACON
Heaven send me the affliction of Daphnis if e'er I believe that tale. But enough of this; if thou'lt wage me a kid — 'tis not worth the candle, but nevertheless come on; I'll have a contention o' song with thee till thou cry hold.
COMATAS
'Tis the old story — teach thy grandam. There; my wage is laid. And thou, for thine, lay me thy fine fat lamb against it.
LACON
Thou fox! prithee how shall such laying fadge? As well might one shear himself hair when a might have wool, as well choose to milk a foul bitch before a young milch-goat.
COMATAS
He that's as sure as thou that he'll vanquish his neighbour is like the wasp buzzing against the cricket's song. But 'tis all one; my kid it seems is no fair stake. So look, I lay thee this full-grown he-goat; and now begin.
LACON
Soft, soft; no fire's burning thee. You'll sing better sitting under the wild olive and this coppice. There's cool water falling yonder, and here's grass and a greenbed, and the locusts at their prattling.
COMATAS
I'm in no haste, not I, but in sorrow rather that you dare look me in the face, I that had the teaching of you when you were but a child. Lord! look where kindness goes. Nurse a wolf-cub, — nay rather, nurse a puppy-dog — to be eaten for't.
LACON
And when, pray, do I mind me to have learnt or heard aught of good from thee? Fie upon thee for a mere envious and churlish piece of a man!
COMATAS
Cum ego te paedicabam, tuque dolebas et capellae balabant et caper eas terebrabat.
LACON
Utinam ne ista paedicatione, gibber, profundius sepeliaris! But a truce, man; hither, come thou hither, and thou shalt sing thy country-song for the last time.
COMATAS
Thither will I never come. Here I have oaks and bedstraw, 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
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
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
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
I suffer no want of him. We'll holla rather, an't please 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
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
'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
Zeus! and who asked thee, foul knave, whether the flock was mine or Sibyrtas'? Lord, what a babbler is here!
COMATAS
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
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
The Muses bear me greater love than Daphnis ere did see;
And well they may, for t'other day they had two goats of me.
LACON
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
Nigh 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
O tale of woe! here's Lacon, though, fills cheese-racks well-nigh twenty
And lies, good hap! in his leman's lap mid flowers that blow so plenty.
COMATAS
But when her goatherd boy goes by you should see my Cleärist
Fling apples, and her pretty lips call pouting to be kissed.
LACON
But madness 'tis for the shepherd to meet the shepherd's love,
So brown and bright are the tresses light that toss that shoulder above.
COMATAS
Ah! but there's no comparing windflower with rose at all,
Nor wild dog-rose with her that blows beside the trim orchard's-wall.
LACON
There's no better likeness, neither, 'twixt fruit of pear and holm;
The acorn savours flat and stale, the pear's like honeycomb.
COMATAS
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
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
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
Where are ye browsing, Crumple? and, Browning, where are ye?
Graze up the hill as Piebald will, and let the oak-leaves be.
COMATAS
I've laid up a piggin of cypress-wood and a bowl for mixing wine,
The work of great Praxiteles, both for that lass of mine.
LACON
And I, I have a flock-dog, a wolver of good fame,
Shall go a gift to my dearest and hunt him all manner of game.
COMATAS
Avaunt, avaunt, ye locusts o'er master's fence that spring;
These be none of your common vines; have done your ravaging.
LACON
See, crickets, see how vexed he be! see master Goatherd boiling!
'Tis even so you vex, I trow, the reapers at their toiling.
COMATAS
I hate the brush-tail foxes, that soon as day declines
Come creeping to their vintaging mid goodman Micon's vines.
LACON
So too I hate the beetles come riding on the breeze,
Guttle Philondas choicest figs, and off as quick as you please.
COMATAS
Num oblitus es tum, cum ego te percutiebam, quam pulchre mihi tu tuam caudam iactaveris ringens et quercui illi adhaerens?
LACON
Istud quidem non ego memini; at tum, cum hic te Eumaras alligatum depectebat, quid acciderit probe scio.
COMATAS
Somebody's waxing wild, Morson; see you not what is plain?
Go pluck him squills from an oldwife's grave to cool his heated brain.
LACON
Nay, I be nettling somebody; what needs it you to tell?
Be off to Haleis' bank, Morson, and dig him an earth-apple.
COMATAS
Let Himera's stream run white with cream, and Crathis, as for thine,
Mid apple-bearing beds of reed may it run red with wine.
LACON
Let Sybaris' well spring honey for me, and ere the sun is up
May the wench that goes for water draw honeycombs for my cup.
COMATAS
My goats eat goat-grass, mine, and browze upon the clover,
Tread mastich green and lie between the arbutes waving over.
LACON
It may be so, but I'ld have ye know these pretty sheep of mine
Browze rock-roses in plenty and sweet as eglantine.
COMATAS
When I brought the cushat 'tother night 'tis true Alcippa kissed me,
But alack! she forgot to kiss by the pot, and since, poor wench, she's missed me.
LACON
When fair Eumedes took the pipe that was his lover's token
He kissed him sweet as sweet could be; his lover's love's unbroken.
COMATAS
'Tis nature's law that no jackdaw with nightingale shall bicker,
Nor owl with swan, but poor Lacon was born a quarrel-picker.
MORSON
I bid the shepherd cease. You, Comatas, may take the lamb; and when you offer her to the Nymphs be sure you presently send poor Morson a well-laden platter.
COMATAS
That will I, 'fore Pan. Come, snort ye, my merry buck-goats all. Look you how great a laugh I have of shepherd Lacon for that I have at last achieved the lamb. Troth, I'll caper you to the welkin. Good she-goats mine, frisk it and be merry; tomorrow I'll wash you one and all in Sybaris lake. What, Whitecoat, thou wanton! if thou leave not meddling with the she's, before ever I sacrifice the lamb to the Nymphs I'll break every bone in thy body. Lo there! he's at it again. If I break thee not, be my last end the end of Melanthius.
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