safe; and, if thou canst take holiday, rest under the shade: hither come the bullocks unherded across the meadows to drink; here Mincius lines his green banks with a fringe of soft rushes, and the swarming bees murmur out of the holy oak.
What was I to do? I had no Alcippe, no Phyllis to shut in the weanling lambs at home; and Corydon against Thyrsis was a brave match. However, I put aside my business for their pleasure. So both began their contest, in alternate verses, since such the Muses willed them to remember. These Corydon, those Thyrsis uttered in his turn.
Co.—Nymphs of Libethrus, our delight, either grant me such a song as my Codrus' own: his come next to the verses Phoebus makes; or if we cannot all of us attain, this shrill pipe shall hang from your holy pine.
Th.—Shepherds of Arcady, deck with ivy your rising poet, that Codrus may burst his gall with envy; or, if he praise beyond my meed, bind my brows with foxglove, lest an evil tongue harm the bard to be.
Co.—This bristling boar's head to thee, maid of Delos, and the branching antlers of a long-lived stag little Micon offers. If this thy grace abide, all in smooth marble thou shalt stand, the crimson buskin laced round thine ankles.
Th.—A bowl of milk and these cakes, O Priapus, yearly is enough for thee to claim; thou art keeper of a scanty garden. Now we have fashioned thee in marble for the time: but do
