MILO.
I talk not big. But lay the corn-ears low
And trill the while some love-song--easier so
Will seem your toil: you used to sing, I know.

BATTUS.
Maids of Pieria, of my slim lass sing!
One touch of yours ennobles everything.

[_Sings_]
Fairy Bombyca! thee do men report
Lean, dusk, a gipsy: I alone nut-brown.
Violets and pencilled hyacinths are swart,
Yet first of flowers they're chosen for a crown.
As goats pursue the clover, wolves the goat,
And cranes the ploughman, upon thee I dote.

Had I but Croesus' wealth, we twain should stand
Gold-sculptured in Love's temple; thou, thy lyre
(Ay or a rose or apple) in thy hand,
I in my brave new shoon and dance-attire.
Fairy Bombyca! twinkling dice thy feet,
Poppies thy lips, thy ways none knows how sweet!

MILO.
Who dreamed what subtle strains our bumpkin wrought?
How shone the artist in each measured verse!
Fie on the beard that I have grown for naught!
Mark, lad, these lines by glorious Lytierse.

[_Sings_]
O rich in fruit and cornblade: be this field
Tilled well, Demeter, and fair fruitage yield!

Bind the sheaves, reapers: lest one, passing, say--
'A fig for these, they're never worth their pay.'

Let the mown swathes look northward, ye who mow,
Or westward--for the ears grow fattest so.

Avoid a noontide nap, ye threshing men:
The chaff flies thickest from the corn-ears then.

Wake when the lark wakes; when he slumbers, close
Your work, ye reapers: and at noontide doze.

Boys, the frogs' life for me! They need not him
Who fills the flagon, for in drink they swim.

Better boil herbs, thou toiler after gain,
Than, splitting cummin, split thy hand in twain.

Strains such as these, I trow, befit them well
Who toil and moil when noon is at its height:
Thy meagre love-tale, bumpkin, though shouldst tell
Thy grandam as she wakes up ere 'tis light.

IDYLL XI.

The Giant's Wooing

Methinks all nature hath no cure for Love,
Plaster or unguent, Nicias, saving one;
And this is light and pleasant to a man,
Yet hard withal to compass--minstrelsy.
As well thou wottest, being thyself a leech,
And a prime favourite of those Sisters nine.
'Twas thus our Giant lived a life of ease,