Daphnis. See here, how they bloom, my slender cypress-trees.
The Maiden. Graze on, my goats, I go to learn the herdsman’s labours.
Daphnis. Feed fair, my bulls, while I show my woodlands to my lady!
The Maiden. What dost thou, little satyr; why dost thou touch my breast?
Daphnis. I will show thee that these earliset apples are ripe. [150b]
The Maiden. By Pan, I swoon; away, take back thy hand.
Daphnis. Courage, dear girl, why fearest thou me, thou art over fearful!
The Maiden. Thou makest me lie down by the water-course, defiling my fair raiment!
Daphnis. Nay, see, ’neath thy raiment fair I am throwing this soft fleece.
The Maiden. Ah, ah, thou hast snatched my girdle too; why hast thou loosed my girdle?