MENALCAS, DAMŒTAS, PALEMON.
Damætas and Menalcas, after some smart strokes of country raillery, resolve to try who has the most skill at song; and accordingly make their neighbour, Palaemon, judge of their performances; who, after a full hearing of both parties, declares himself unfit for the decision of so weighty a controversy, and leaves the victory undetermined.
Ho, swain! what shepherd owns those ragged sheep?
Ægon's they are: he gave them me to keep.
Unhappy sheep, of an unhappy swain !
While he Neæra courts, but courts in vain,
And fears that I the damsel shall obtain.
Thou, varlet, dost thy master's gains devour; Thou milk'st his ewes, and often twice an hour; Of grass and fodder thou defraud'st the dams, And of their mother's dugs the starving lambs.
Good words, young catamite, at least to men.
We know who did your business, how, and when;
And in what chapel too you play'd your prize,
And what the goats observed with leering eyes:
The nymphs were kind, and laugh'd; and there
your safety lies.
Yes, when I cropt the hedges of the leys,
Cut Micon's tender vines, and stole the stays!
Or rather, when, beneath yon ancient oak,
The bow of Daphnis, and the shafts, you broke,
When the fair boy received the gift of right;
And, but for mischief, you had died for spite.
What nonsense would the fool, thy master, prate, When thou, his knave, canst talk at such a rate! Did I not see you, rascal, did I not,
When you lay snug to snap young Damon's goat? His mongrel bark'd; I ran to his relief,
And cried," There, there he goes! stop, stop the thief!"
Discover'd, and defeated of your prey,
You skulk'd behind the fence, and sneak'd away.
An honest man may freely take his own:
The goat was mine, by singing fairly won.
A solemn match was made; he lost the prize.
Ask Damon, ask, if he the debt denies.
I think he dares not; if he does, he lies.
Thou sing with him? thou booby!-Never pipe
Was so profaned to touch that blubber'd lip.
Dunce at the best! in streets but scarce allow'd
To tickle, on thy straw, the stupid crowd.
To bring it to the trial, will you dare
Our pipes, our skill, our voices to compare?
My brinded heifer to the stake I lay;
Two thriving calves she suckles twice a-day,
And twice besides her beestings never fail
To store the dairy with a brimming pail.
Now back your singing with an equal stake.
That should be seen, if I had one to make.
You know too well, I feed my father's flock;
What can I wager from the common stock?
A stepdame too I have, a cursed she,
Who rules my hen-peck'd sire, and orders me.
Both number twice a-day the milky dams;
And once she takes the tale of all the lambs.
But, since you will be mad, and since you may
Suspect my courage, if I should not lay,
The pawn I proffer shall be full as good:
Two bowls I have, well turn'd of beechen wood;
Both by divine Alcimedon were made;
To neither of them yet the lip is laid.
The lids are ivy; grapes in clusters lurk
Beneath the carving of the curious work.
Two figures on the sides emboss'd appear-
Conon, and what's his name who made the sphere,
And shew'd the seasons of the sliding year,
Instructed in his trade the labouring swain,
And when to reap, and when to sow the grain?
And I have two, to match your pair, at home;
The wood the same; from the same hand they come,
(The kimbo handles seem with bear's foot carved,)
And never yet to table have been served
Where Orpheus on his lyre laments his love,
With beasts encompass'd, and a dancing grove.
But these, nor all the proffers you can make,
Are worth the heifer which I set to stake.
No more delays, vain boaster, but begin!
I prophesy before-hand, I shall win.
Palæmon shall be judge how ill you rhyme :
I'll teach you how to brag another time.
Rhymer, come on! and do the worst you can;
I fear not you, nor yet a better man.
With silence, neighbour, and attention, wait;
For 'tis a business of a high debate.
Sing then; the shade affords a proper place,
The trees are clothed with leaves, the fields with grass,
The blossoms blow, the birds on bushes sing,
And Nature has accomplish'd all the spring.
The challenge to Damoetas shall belong;
Menalcas shall sustain his under-song;
Each in his turn your tuneful numbers bring,
By turns the tuneful Muses love to sing.
From the great father of the gods above
My Muse begins; for all is full of Jove :
To Jove the care of heaven and earth belongs;
My flocks he blesses, and he loves my songs.
Me Phoebus loves; for he my Muse inspires,
And in her songs the warmth he gave requires.
For him, the god of shepherds and their sheep,*
My blushing hyacinths and my bays I keep.
My Phyllis me with pelted apples plies ;
Then tripping to the woods the wanton hies,
And wishes to be seen before she flies.
But fair Amyntas comes unask'd to me,
And offers love, and sits upon my knee.
Not Delia to my dogs is known so well as he.
To the dear mistress of my love-sick mind,
Her swain a pretty present has design'd:
I saw two stock-doves billing, and ere long
Will take the nest, and hers shall be the young.
Ten ruddy wildings in the wood I found,
And stood on tiptoes, reaching from the ground :
I sent Amyntas all my present store;
And will, to-morrow, send as many more.
* Phoebus, not Pan, is here called the god of shepherds. The poet alludes to the same story which he touches in the beginning of the Second Georgic, where he calls Phoebus the Amphrysian shepherd, because he fed the sheep and oxen of Admetus, with whom he was in love, on the hill Amphrysus.
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