Where winds the brook by woodlands myriad-deep:
There is her haunt. Go, Stump-horn, tell her how Proteus plied
(A god) the shepherd's trade, with seals for sheep."
DAPHNIS.
"I ask not gold, I ask not the broad lands of a king;
I ask not to be fleeter than the breeze;
But 'neath this steep to watch my sheep, feeding as one, and fling
(Still clasping her) my carol o'er the seas."
MENALCAS.
"Storms are the fruit-tree's bane; the brook's, a summer hot and dry;