Who loves me: I know where it sits; up in the juniper.
LACON.
Pooh! a soft fleece, to make a coat, I'll give the day I shear
My brindled ewe—(no hand but mine shall touch it)—to my dear.
COMETAS.
Back, lambs, from that wild-olive: and be content to browse
Here on the shoulder of the hill, beneath the myrtle boughs.
LACON.
Run, (will ye?) Ball and Dogstar, down from that oak tree, run:
And feed where Spot is feeding, and catch the morning sun.