Not I. What time have workers for regret?
BATTUS.
Hath love ne'er kept thee from thy slumbers yet?
MILO.
Nay, heaven forbid! If once the cat taste cream!
BATTUS.
Milo, these ten days love hath been my dream.
MILO.
You drain your wine, while vinegar's scarce with me.
BATTUS.
--Hence since last spring untrimmed my borders be.
MILO.
And what lass flouts thee?
BATTUS.
She whom we heard play
Amongst Hippocooen's reapers yesterday.
MILO.
Your sins have found you out--you're e'en served right:
You'll clasp a corn-crake in your arms all night.
BATTUS.
You laugh: but headstrong Love is blind no less
Than Plutus: talking big is foolishness.
MILO.
I talk not big. But lay the corn-ears low
And trill the while some love-song--easier so
Will seem your toil: you used to sing, I know.
BATTUS.
Maids of Pieria, of my slim lass sing!
One touch of yours ennobles everything.
[_Sings_]
Fairy Bombyca! thee do men report
Lean, dusk, a gipsy: I alone nut-brown.
Violets and pencilled hyacinths are swart,
Yet first of flowers they're chosen for a crown.
As goats pursue the clover, wolves the goat,
And cranes the ploughman, upon thee I dote.
Had I but Croesus' wealth, we twain should stand
Gold-sculptured in Love's temple; thou, thy lyre
(Ay or a rose or apple) in thy hand,
I in my brave new shoon and dance-attire.
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