Page:Virgil's Pastorals, Georgics and Aeneis - Dryden (1709) - volume 1.pdf/192

52 Kick'd out, we set the best Face on't we cou'd, And these two Kids t'appease his angry Mood, I bear, of which the Furies give him good. Your Country Friends were told another Tale; That from the sloaping Mountain to the Vale, And dodder'd Oak, and all the Banks along, Menalcas sav'd his Fortune with a Song. Such was the News, indeed, but Songs and Rhymes Prevail as much in these hard Iron Times, As would a plump of trembling Fowl, that rise Against an Eagle sousing from the Skies. And had not Phœbus warn'd me by the croak Of an old Raven, from a hollow Oak, To shun debate, Menalcas had been slain, And Moeris not surviv'd him, to complain. Now Heav'n defend! cou'd barb'rous Rage induce The Brutal Son of Mars, t'insult the sacred Muse! Who then shou'd sing the Nymphs, or who rehearse The Waters gliding in a smoother Verse! Or Amaryllis praise, that Heav'nly Lay, That shorten'd as we went, our tedious Way. O Tity'rus, tend my Herd, and see them fed; To Morning Pastures, Evening Waters led: And 'ware the Lybian Ridgils butting Head. Or what unfinish'd He to Varus read;