Page:Virgil's Pastorals, Georgics and Aeneis - Dryden (1709) - volume 1.pdf/147

Past. III. The same ill taste of Sense wou'd serve to join Dog Foxes in the Yoak, and sheer the Swine. Ye Boys, who pluck the Flow'rs, and spoil the Spring, Beware the secret Snake, that shoots a Sting. Graze not too near the Banks, my jolly Sheep, The Ground is false, the running Streams are deep: See, they have caught the Father of the Flock; Who drys his Fleece upon the neighb'ring Rock. From Rivers drive the Kids, and sling your Hook; Anon I'll wash 'em in the shallow Brook. To fold, my Flock; when Milk is dry'd with heat, In vain the Milk-maid tugs an empty Teat. How lank my Bulls from plenteous pasture come! But Love that drains the Herd, destroys the Groom. My Flocks are free from Love; yet look so thin, Their bones are barely cover'd with their Skin. What magick has bewitch'd the woolly Dams, And what ill Eyes beheld the tender Lambs? Say, where the round of Heav'n, which all contains, To three short Ells on Earth our sight restrains: Tell that, and rise a Phœbus for thy pains. Rh