And you also follow him “neath Phrygian pine shade: Thyrsis and Daphnis upon whittled reeds, And how ten sins can corrupt young maidens; Kids for a bribe and pressed udders, Happy selling poor loves for cheap apples. Tityrus might have sung the same vixen; Corydon tempted Alexis, Head farmers do likewise, and lying weary amid their oats They get praise from tolerant Hamadryads.” Go on, to Ascraeus’ prescription, the ancient, respected, Wordsworthian: “A flat field for rushes, grapes grow on the slope.” And behold me, small fortune left in my house. Me, who had no general for a grandfather! I shall triumph among young ladies of indeterminate character, My talent acclaimed in their banquets, I shall be honoured with yesterday’s wreaths. And the god strikes to the marrow. Like a trained and performing tortoise, I would make verse in your fashion, if she should command it, With her husband asking a remission of sentence, And even this infamy would not attract numerous readers Were there an erudite or violent passion, For the nobleness of the populace brooks nothing below its own altitude. One must have resonance, resonance and sonority ... like a goose. Varro sang Jason’s expedition, Varro, of his great passion Leucadia, There is song in the parchment; Catullus the highly indecorous, Of Lesbia, known above Helen; And in the dyed pages of Calvus, Calvus mourning Quintilia, And but now Gallus had sung of Lycoris. Fair, fairest Lycoris-- The waters of Styx poured over the wound: And now Propertius of Cynthia, taking his stand among these. LANGUE D’OC _Alba_ _When the nightingale to his mate Sings day-long and night late My love and I keep state In bower, In flower, ’Till the watchman on the tower Cry: “Up! Thou rascal, Rise, I see the white Light And the night Flies.”_ I _Compleynt of a gentleman who has been waiting outside for some time_ O Plasmatour and true celestial light, Lord powerful, engirdled all with might, Give my good-fellow aid in fools’ despite Who stirs not forth this night, And day comes on. “Sst! my good fellow, art awake or sleeping? Sleep thou no more. I see the star upleaping That hath the dawn in keeping, And day comes on! “Hi! Harry, hear me, for I sing aright Sleep not thou now, I hear the bird in flight That plaineth of the going of the night, And day comes on!