And fees 'em how they frisk, and how they play, } And you too, when you fee the Nymphs advance All this, without an Answer, heard the Swain; Then Venus came, and rais'd his drooping Head: She fpake----And thus the mournful Swain reply'd. Begin, fweet Muse, begin the Rural Lay. Hence, Cyprian Queen, to Ida's Tops repair, Begin, fweet Muse, begin the Rural Lay. † Ἤδη 25 φράσδει πάνθ ̓ ἅλις ἅμμι δεδύκειν. Ye Panthers, Lions, and ye Wolves adieu! Who now fhall traverse the thick Woods with you?, No more fhall you be chas'd, no more fhall I purfue. Hail Arethusa, lovely Fountain hail ! [Vale! Farewel ye Streams that flow thro' Tyber's flow'ry Farewel!--The Gods forbid my longer Stay: Leave off, fond Mufe, leave off the Rural Lay. Pan, Pan, where-e'er your wandring Footsteps Whether on Lyce's airy Tops you rove, Or fporting in the vast Menalian Grove: [move; Hafte, quickly hafte; leave the high Tomb, that nods Leave off, fond Mufe, leave off the Rural Lay. Leave off, fond Mufe, leave off the Rural Lay. The Cup and Goat you cannot now refufe: I'll milk her, and I'll offer to my Mufe. } All hail, ye Mufes, that inspire my Tongue! GOAT-HERD. May dropping Combs on those fweet Lips diftil, Here, take the promis'd Cup: How bright the look! The RE A PER S. } The Tenth Idyllium of THEOCRITUS. Englished by Mr. William Bowles, of King's College in Cambridge. MILO. BATTU S. RE you grown lazy, or does fome Disease, That like a Sheep prickt by a pointed Thorn, B. Milo, thou piece of Flint, thou all of Stone, M. Who, but fuch Fools as thou, the Abfent mind? Sure what concerns you more, you here may find. B. Did Love ne'er yet thy Senfes waking keep, Trouble thy Dreams, or interrupt thy Sleep? * Kioraidas the Name of the Goat, M. The Gods preferve me from that reftlefs Care. Oh Reapers all, the gilded Bait beware! B. But I nine Days the Paffion Love have felt, With inward fires confume, and flowly melt. See! all neglected lyes before my Door, While I run mad for a confounded Whore. She who pip'd lately at Hippocoon's Feaft, Charm'd every Ear, and wounded every Gueft! M. The Gods for fome old Sins have fent this Evil, And fhame long due has reach'd thee from the Devil. B. Beware, infulting Cupid has a Dart, And it may one Day reach thy ftubborn Heart. M. Come, you're a Poet, fing some am'rous Song, "Twill ease your Toil, and make the Day less long. B. Oh Muse! affift my Song, and make it flow, For you fresh Charms on all you fing bestow. } Bombyce (Oh my deareft) do not frown, Oh! had the envious Gods not made me poor, M. Battus deceiv'd us, a great Poet grown, What Verse is here! But are they, Friend, thy own? 11. Smile on the Corn, O Ceres blefs the Field, May the full Ears a plenteous Harvest yield. Gather your Sheaves (Oh Friends!) and better bind, See how they're blown, and scatter'd by the Wind: Hafte, le fome jeering Paffenger should fay, Oh lazy Rogues! their Hire is thrown away. Reapers obferve, and to the Southwest turn Your Sheaves; 'twill fill the Ears, and fwell the Corn. Threshers at Noon, and in the burning Heat, (Then the light Chaff flies out) fhould toil and fweat; But Reapers should with the sweet Wood-Lark rife, And fleep when Phoebus mounts the Southern Skies. Happy the Frogs who in the Waters dwell! They fuck in Drink for Air, and proudly fwell. Oh niggard Bayliff! we could dine on Beans, And fpare your windy Cabbage, and your Pains. Such Songs at once delight us, and improve; But thy fad Ditty, and thy tale of Love Keep for thy Mother, Battus, I advise, When ftretch'd and yawning in her Bed the lyes. AITHZ. Or, the Twelfth Idyllium of THEOCRITUS. Scarce three wholt here, and parted last, Carce three whole Days,my lovely Youth, had paft And yet fo fluggishly the Minutes flew, A fnowy White around my drooping Head. w |