5–6
MOPSUS
How, how repay thee for a song so rare?
For not the whispering south-wind on its way
105
so much delights me, nor wave-smitten beach,
nor streams that race adown their bouldered beds.
MENALCAS
First this frail hemlock-stalk to you I give,
which taught me “Corydon with love was fired
for fair Alexis,” ay, and this beside,
110
“Who owns the flock?—Meliboeus?”
this shepherd's crook, which, howso hard he begged,
antigenes, then worthy to be loved,
prevailed not to obtain—with brass, you see,
115
and equal knots, Menalcas, fashioned fair!
first my Thalia stooped in sportive mood
to Syracusan strains, nor blushed within
the woods to house her. When I sought to tell
of battles and of kings, the Cynthian god
plucked at mine ear and warned me: “Tityrus,
5
beseems a shepherd-wight to feed fat sheep,
but sing a slender song.” Now, Varus, I—
