This Milo will be teaching wolves how they should raven next.

CORYDON.
--And by these bellowings his kine proclaim how sore they're vexed.

BATTUS.
Poor kine! they've found their master a sorry knave indeed.

CORYDON.
They're poor enough, I grant you: they have not heart to feed.

BATTUS.
Look at that heifer! sure there's naught, save bare bones, left of her.
Pray, does she browse on dewdrops, as doth the grasshopper?

CORYDON.
Not she, by heaven! She pastures now by AEsarus' glades,
And handfuls fair I pluck her there of young and green grass-blades;
Now bounds about Latymnus, that gathering-place of shades.

BATTUS.
That bull again, the red one, my word but he is lean!
I wish the Sybarite burghers aye may offer to the queen
Of heaven as pitiful a beast: those burghers are so mean!

CORYDON.
Yet to the Salt Lake's edges I drive him, I can swear;
Up Physcus, up Neaethus' side--he lacks not victual there,
With dittany and endive and foxglove for his fare.

BATTUS.
Well, well! I pity AEgon. His cattle, go they must
To rack and ruin, all because vain-glory was his lust.
The pipe that erst he fashioned is doubtless scored with rust?

CORYDON.
Nay, by the Nymphs! That pipe he left to me, the self-same day
He made for Pisa: I am too a minstrel in my way:
Well the flute-part in '_Pyrrhus_' and in '_Glauca_' can I play.
I sing too '_Here's to Croton_' and '_Zacynthus O 'tis fair_,'
And '_Eastward to Lacinium_:'--the bruiser Milo there
His single self ate eighty loaves; there also did he pull
Down from its mountain-dwelling, by one hoof grasped, a bull,
And gave it Amaryllis: the maidens screamed with fright;
As for the owner of the bull he only laughed outright.

BATTUS.
Sweet Amaryllis! thou alone, though dead, art unforgot.
Dearer than thou, whose light is quenched, my very goats are not.
Oh for the all-unkindly fate that's fallen to my lot!

CORYDON.
Cheer up, brave lad! tomorrow may ease thee of thy pain:
Aye for the living are there hopes, past' hoping are the slain:
And now Zeus sends us sunshine, and now he sends us rain.

BATTUS.
I'm better. Beat those young ones off! E'en now their teeth attack
That olive's shoots, the graceless brutes! Back, with your white face,
back!

CORYDON.
Back to thy hi