I have, and I'd as lief her throat were cut!
She almost ripped my bowels up, I vow,
Running amuck with horns well set to butt:
Nathless I've locked her in the stall below:
She's blown with grass, I tell you, saucy slut!
ARISTAEUS.
Now, prithee, let me hear what made you stay
So long upon the upland lawns away?
THYRSIS.
Walking, I spied a gentle maiden there,
Who plucked wild flowers upon the mountain side:
I scarcely think that Venus is more fair,
Of sweeter grace, most modest in her pride:
She speaks, she sings, with voice so soft and rare,
That listening streams would backward roll their tide:
Her face is snow and roses; gold her head;
All, all alone she goes, white-raimented,
ARISTAEUS.
Stay, Mopsus! I must follow: for 'tis she
Of whom I lately spoke. So, friend, farewell!
MOPSUS.
Hold, Aristaeus, lest for her or thee
Thy boldness be the cause of mischief fell!
ARISTAEUS.