What, Firefly, is thy sleep so deep? It ill befits a hound,
When ranging with his master, to slumber over-sound.
And, wethers, of this tender grass take, nothing coy, your fill:
So, when the after-math[37] shall come, will none be weak or ill.
So! so! feed on, that ye be full, that not an udder fail:
Part of the milk shall rear the lambs, and part shall fill my pail.
Then Daphnis flung a carol out, as of a nightingale:—
Daphnis.
Me from her grot but yesterday a girl of haughty brow
Spied as I passed her with my kine, and said, ‘How fair art thou!’