Page:The Greek bucolic poets (1912).djvu/55

 “And the sweet nightingale be outsung i’ the dale by the scritch—owl from the hill."

Such words spake he, and he stayed him still; and O, the Love-Ladye, She would fain have raised him where he lay, but that could never be. For the thread was spun and the days were done and Daphnis gone to the River, And the Nymphs’ good friend and the Muses’ fere was whelmed i’ the whirl for ever.

There; give me the goat and the tankard, man; and the Muses shall have a libation of her milk. Fare you well, ye Muses, and again fare you well, and I ’ll e’en sing you a sweeter song another day.

Be your fair mouth filled with honey and the honeycomb, good Thyrsis; be your eating of the sweet figs of Aegilus; for sure your singing’s as delightful as the cricket’s chirping in spring. Here’s the cup (taking it from his wallet). Pray mark how good it smells; you’ll be thinking it hath been washed at the well o’ the Seasons. Hither, Browning; and milk her, you. A truce to your skipping, ye kids yonder, or the buckgoat will be after you. Rh