MENALCAS.
To whom belongs this flock, Damœtas, pray:
To Melibœus?
DAMŒTAS.
No; the other day
The shepherd Ægon gave it me to keep.
MENALCAS.
Ah still neglected, still unhappy sheep![2]
He plies Neæra with assiduous love,
And fears lest she my happier flame approve;
Meanwhile this hireling wretch (disgrace to swains!)
Defrauds his master, and purloins his gains,
Milks twice an hour, and drains the famish'd dams,
Whose empty dugs in vain attract the lambs.
DAMŒTAS.
Forbear on men such language to bestow.
Thee, stain of manhood! thee full well I know.
I know, with whom—and where—[3] (their grove defil'd
The nymphs reveng'd not, but indulgent smil'd)
And how the goats beheld, then browsing near,
The shameful sight with a lascivious leer.
MENALCAS.
No doubt, when Mycon's tender trees I broke,
And gash'd his young vines with a blunted hook.