Your country friends were told another tale,-- That, from the sloping mountain to the vale, And doddered oak, and all the banks along, Menalcas saved his fortune with a song. MOERIS. Such was the news, indeed; but songs and rhymes Prevail as much in these hard iron times, As would a plump of trembling fowl, that rise Against an eagle sousing from the skies. And, had not Phoebus warned me, by the croak Of an old raven from a hollow oak, To shun debate, Menalcas had been slain, And Moeris not survived him, to complain. LYCIDAS. Now heaven defend! could barbarous rage induce The brutal son of Mars t'insult the sacred Muse? Who then should sing the nymphs? or who rehearse The waters gliding in a smoother verse? Or Amaryllis praise that heavenly lay, That shortened, as we went, our tedious way,-- "O Tityrus, tend my herd, and see them fed; To morning pastures, evening waters, led; And 'ware the Libyan ridgil's butting head." MOERIS. Or what unfinished he to Varus read:-- "Thy name, O Varus, (if the kinder powers Preserve our plains, and shield the Mantuan towers, Obnoxious by Cremona's neighbouring crime,) The wings of swans, and stronger-pinioned rhyme, Shall raise aloft, and soaring bear above-- The immortal gift of gratitude to Jove." LYCIDAS. Sing on, sing on; for I can ne'er be cloyed. So may thy swarms the baleful yew avoid; So may thy cows their burdened bags distend, And trees to goats their willing branches bend. Mean as I am, yet have the Muses made Me free, a member of the tuneful trade: At least the shepherds seem to like my lays; But I discern their flattery from their praise: I nor to Cinna's ears, nor Varus,' dare aspire, But gabble, like a goose, amidst the swan-like choir. MOERIS. 'Tis what I have been conning in my mind; Nor are they verses of a vulgar kind. "Come, Galatea! come! the seas forsake! What pleasures can the tides with their hoarse murmurs make? See, on the shore inhabits purple spring, Where nightingales their love-sick ditty sing: See, meads with purling streams, with flowers the ground, } The grottoes cool, with shady poplars crowned, } And creeping vines on arbours weaved around. } Come then, and leave the waves' tumultuous roar; Let the wild surges vainly beat the shore." LYCIDAS. Or that sweet song I heard with such delight; The same you sung alone one starry night. The tune I still retain, but not the words. MOERIS.