Here falls a cold rill drop by drop, and green grass-blades uprear
Their heads, and fallen leaves are thick, and locusts prattle here.
COMETAS.
Hot I am not; but hurt I am, and sorely, when I think
That thou canst look me in the face and never bleach nor blink--
Me, thine own boyhood's tutor! Go, train the she-wolf's brood:
Train dogs--that they may rend thee! This, this is gratitude!
LACON.
When learned I from thy practice or thy preaching aught that's right,
Thou puppet, thou misshapen lump of ugliness and spite?
COMETAS.
When? When I beat thee, wailing sore: yon goats looked on with glee,
And bleated; and were dealt with e'en as I had dealt with thee.
LACON.
Well, hunchback, shallow be thy grave as was thy judgment then!
But hither, hither! Thou'lt not dip in herdsman's lore again.
COMETAS.
Nay, here are oaks and galingale: the hum of housing bees
Makes the place pleasant, and the birds are piping in the trees.
And here are two cold streamlets; here deeper shadows fall
Than yon place owns, and look what cones drop from the pinetree tall.
LACON.
Come hither, and tread on lambswool that is soft as any dream:
Still more unsavoury than thyself to me thy goatskins seem.
Here will I plant a bowl of milk, our ladies' grace to win;
And one, as huge, beside it, sweet olive-oil therein.
COMETAS.
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