_After some verses addressed to Diophantus_, _a friend about whom nothing is known_, _the poet describes the toilsome life of two old fishermen_. _One of them has dreamed of catching a golden fish_, _and has sworn_, _in his dream_, _never again to tempt the sea_. _The other reminds him that his oath is as empty as his vision_, _and that he must angle for common fish_, _if he would not starve among his golden dreams_. _The idyl is_, _unfortunately_, _corrupt beyond hope of certain correction_. * * * * * ’TIS Poverty alone, Diophantus, that awakens the arts; Poverty, the very teacher of labour. Nay, not even sleep is permitted, by weary cares, to men that live by toil, and if, for a little while, one close his eyes {105} in the night, cares throng about him, and suddenly disquiet his slumber. Two fishers, on a time, two old men, together lay and slept; they had strown the dry sea-moss for a bed in their wattled cabin, and there they lay against the leafy wall. Beside them were strewn the instruments of their toilsome hands, the fishing-creels, the rods of reed, the hooks, the sails bedraggled with sea-spoil, {106a} the lines, the weds, the lobster pots woven of rushes, the seines, two oars, {106b} and an old coble upon props. Beneath their heads was a scanty matting, their clothes, their sailor’s caps. Here was all their toil, here all their wealth. The threshold had never a door, nor a watch-dog; {106c} all things, all, to them seemed superfluity, for Poverty was their sentinel. They had no neighbour by them, but ever against their narrow cabin gently floated up the sea. The chariot of the moon had not yet reached the mid-point of her course, but their familiar toil awakened the fishermen; from their eyelids they cast out slumber, and roused their souls with speech. {106d} _Asphalion_. They lie all, my friend, who say that the nights wane short in summer, when Zeus brings the long days. Already have I seen ten thousand dreams, and the dawn is not yet. Am I wrong, what ails them, the nights are surely long? _The Friend_. Asphalion, thou blamest the beautiful summer! It is not that the season hath wilfully passed his natural course, but care, breaking thy sleep, makes night seem long to thee. _Asphalion_. Didst ever learn to interpret dreams? for good dreams have I beheld. I would not have thee to go without thy share in my vision; even as we go shares in the fish we catch, so share all my dreams! Sure, thou art not to be surpassed in wisdom; and he is the best interpreter of dreams that hath wisdom for his teacher. Moreover, we have time to idle in, for what could a man find to do, lying on a leafy bed beside the wave and slumbering not? Nay, the ass is among the thorns, the lantern in the town hall, for, they say, it is always sleepless. {107} _The Friend_. Tell me, then, the vision of the night; nay, tell all to thy friend.