Lacon. Tell, and I'll lay down my pipe.
Thyr. I have lost my lovely steer,
That to me was far more dear
Than these kine which I milk here:
Broad of forehead, large of eye,
Party-colour'd like a pie;
Smooth in each limb as a die;
Clear of hoof, and clear of horn:
Sharply pointed as a thorn,
With a neck by yoke unworn;
From the which hung down by strings,
Balls of cowslips, daisy rings,
Interplac'd with ribbonings:
Faultless every way for shape;
Not a straw could him escape;
Ever gamesome as an ape,
But yet harmless as a sheep.
Pardon, Lacon, if I weep;
Tears will spring where woes are deep.
Now, ay me! ay me! Last night
Came a mad dog and did bite,
Aye, and kill'd my dear delight.
Lacon. Alack, for grief!
Thyr. But I'll be brief.
Hence I must, for time doth call
Me, and my sad playmates all,
To his ev'ning funeral.
Live long, Lacon, so adieu!
Lacon. Mournful maid, farewell to you;
Earth afford ye flowers to strew.
Pie, i.e., a magpie.
985. UPON SAPPHO.
Look upon Sappho's lip, and you will swear
There is a love-like leaven rising there.
988. A BACCHANALIAN VERSE.
Drink up
Your cup,
But not spill wine;
For if you
Do,
'Tis an ill sign;