Lacon. That I have no memory of, but how Eumarides bound thee there, upon a time, and flogged thee through and through, that I do very well remember.
Comatas. Already, Morson, some one is waxing bitter, dust thou see no sign of it? Go, go, and pluck, forthwith, the squills from some old wife’s grave.
Lacon. And I too, Morson, I make some one chafe, and thou dost perceive it. Be off now to the Hales stream, and dig cyclamen.
Comatas. Let Himera flow with milk instead of water, and thou, Crathis, run red with wine, and all thy reeds bear apples.
Lacon. Would that the fount of Sybaris may flow with honey, and may the maiden’s pail, at dawning, be dipped, not in water, but in the honeycomb.
Comatas. My goats eat cytisus, and goatswort, and tread the lentisk shoots, and lie at ease among the arbutus.
Lacon. But my ewes have honey-wort to feed on, and luxuriant creepers flower around, as fair as roses.
Comatas. I love not Alcippe, for yesterday she did not kiss me, and take my face between her hands, when I gave her the dove.
Lacon. But deeply I love my darling, for a kind kiss once I got, in return for the gift of a shepherd’s pipe.
Comatas. Lacon, it never was right that pyes should contend with the nightingale, nor hoopoes with swans, but thou, unhappy swain, art ever for contention.