Idyll 5

5. The Singing-Match: Comatas and Lacon Comatas

My goats, flee that fellow there, the shepherd of Sibyrtas,

Lacon; he stole my fleece yesterday.

Lacon

Away from the spring! Hsst, lambs. Do you not see

Comatas, who stole my pipe the other day?

Comatas

What pipe? When did you, Sibyrtas' slave,

ever own a pipe? Why are you not content,

along with Corydon, to toot on a whistle of straw?

Lacon

The one Lycon gave me, free man that you are. And as for you,

what fleece did Lacon ever make off with and steal? Tell me, Comatas;

your own master Eumaras had nothing even to sleep in.

Comatas

The dappled one Crocylus gave me, when he sacrificed

the goat to the Nymphs; and you, wretch, even then were sick

with envy, and now in the end you have stripped me bare.

Lacon

No, by Pan of the shore himself, Lacon

the son of Calaethis did not strip you of the goatskin, or may I

fling myself, man, in madness off that rock into the Crathis.

Comatas

No, by the very Nymphs of the marsh, good fellow—

and may they be gracious and kindly to me—

Comatas did not slip up and steal your pipe.

Lacon

If I were to believe you, may I take on the sorrows of Daphnis.

But come, if you care to stake a kid—it is no great

matter—then I will sing against you until you give up.

Comatas

A pig once vied with Athena. There, the kid

is laid down; come now, you too stake the well-fed lamb.

Lacon

And how, you fox, shall this be even between us?

Who shears hair instead of wool? Who, with a good

first-bearing she-goat at hand, would choose to milk a vile bitch?

Comatas

A man who feels sure, as you do, of beating his neighbor—

a buzzing wasp matched against a cicada. But since the kid

is no fair match for you, here is this he-goat. Sing.

Lacon

No hurry; you are not on fire. You will sing more sweetly

sitting here beneath this wild olive and these groves.

Cool water trickles down here; here have sprung up

grass and this bed of leaves, and here the locusts chatter.

Comatas

I am in no hurry; but I am greatly vexed that you dare

look me in the face with level eyes—me, who once,

when you were still a child, taught you. See where favor comes to in the end.

Rear wolf-cubs, rear dogs, and they will eat you.

Lacon

And when did I ever learn or even hear any good thing from you

that I remember? You spiteful, ill-bred little man, just so.

. . .

But come this way, come, and sing your last herdsman's song.

Comatas

I will not come there; here are oaks, here is galingale,

here the bees hum sweetly about their hives;

here are two springs of cool water; on the tree

the birds are chattering; and the shade is nothing like

the shade by you; and the pine showers down its cones from above.

Lacon

But you will tread on lambskins and on wool here,

if you come, softer than sleep; whereas your goatskins

beside you smell ranker than you yourself smell.

And I will set up a great bowl of white milk

for the Nymphs, and set up another of sweet oil.

Comatas

But if you come, you will tread here on soft fern

and flowering pennyroyal; and under you will lie goatskins

four times softer than the lambskins beside you.

And I will set up eight pails of milk for Pan,

and eight bowls full of combs heavy with honey.

Lacon

There where you are, sing against me, and there make your herdsman's song;

tread your own ground and keep your oaks. But who shall judge

between us? If only the cowherd Lycopas would come this way.

Comatas

I have no need of him; but the man,

if you like, the woodcutter, we will call—he is cutting

those heath-bushes there beside you for firewood; it is Morson.

Lacon

Let us call him.

Comatas

You call him.

Lacon

Come here, stranger, listen a moment;

come this way; for we are contending which is the better

singer of herdsman's songs. And you, friend Morson, neither judge

me with favor, nor yet do this man any favor.

Comatas

Yes, by the Nymphs, dear Morson, neither give Comatas

the more, nor yet show favor to this fellow here.

This flock here belongs to Sibyrtas of Thurii,

and the goats you see, friend, are Eumaras' of Sybaris.

Lacon

Did anyone ask you, for Zeus' sake, whether the flock

is Sibyrtas' or mine, you scoundrel? How you chatter.

Comatas

My good man, I speak everything truthfully

and make no boast; but you are far too fond of jeering.

Lacon

Come, say what you have to say, and let the stranger go

home alive again. O Healer, what a chatterbox you were, Comatas.

Comatas

The Muses love me far more than the singer

Daphnis; and only the other day I sacrificed two kids to them.

Lacon

Apollo too loves me greatly, and a fine ram

I am rearing for him; and the Carnea are even now at hand.

Comatas

I milk goats that bear twins, all but two of those left;

and the girl, looking on, says, Poor wretch, do you milk all alone?

Lacon

Ah, ah, Lacon fills near twenty baskets

with cheese, and tumbles his boy among the flowers.

Comatas

And Clearista pelts the goatherd with apples

as he drives the goats past, and whistles sweetly after him.

Lacon

And me too the smooth-cheeked Cratidas, coming to meet me,

the shepherd, drives wild; and his sleek hair tosses about his neck.

Comatas

But the dog-rose and the anemone are not to be compared

to roses, whose beds grow along the garden walls.

Lacon

Nor are wild crab-apples to be matched with acorns: the one

has a sorry rind from the holm-oak, the others are honey-sweet.

Comatas

And I shall give the maiden a wood-pigeon presently,

taking it down from the juniper; for there it roosts.

Lacon

But I, when I shear the ewe, will give Cratidas himself

soft wool for a cloak, of my own free gift.

Comatas

Hsst, away from the wild olive, you bleating things; graze here,

on this sloping hillside among the tamarisks.

Lacon

Away from the oak, you, Conarus, and Cinaetha;

graze over here toward the east, where Phalarus does.

Comatas

I have a milk-pail of cypress-wood, and a bowl,

the work of Praxiteles; and I keep these for the girl.

Lacon

And I have a flock-loving dog that throttles wolves,

which I give to my boy to chase all the wild beasts.

Comatas

Locusts that leap over our fence,

do not ravage my vines; for they are young.

Lacon

Cicadas, see how I provoke the goatherd;

just so, I suppose, do you provoke the reapers.

Comatas

I hate the bushy-tailed foxes, that come every evening

to Micon's vines and plunder the grapes.

Lacon

And I too hate the beetles, that devour Philondas'

figs and are borne off downwind.

Comatas

Do you not remember, when I had you at my mercy, and you, grinning,

wriggled prettily and clung to that oak there?

Lacon

That I do not remember; but the time when Eumaras

bound you here and gave you a fine thrashing, that I do know.

Comatas

Now someone is growing bitter, Morson; do you not see?

Go and pull squills from an old woman's grave at once.

Lacon

And I too am nettling someone, Morson; you see it too.

Go and dig the cyclamen there beside the Hales.

Comatas

May Himera flow with milk instead of water; and you, Crathis,

run purple with wine, and may your reeds bear fruit.

Lacon

May the Sybaris spring flow with honey for me, and at dawn

let the girl dip honeycombs, not water, in her pitcher.

Comatas

My goats feed on clover and goat-grass,

and tread the lentisk, and lie among the arbutus.

Lacon

For my ewes the sweet balm is at hand

to feed on, and much rock-rose blooms like roses.

Comatas

I do not love Alcippa, because the other day she did not kiss me,

taking me by the ears, when I gave her the wood-pigeon.

Lacon

But I love Eumedes greatly; for when I gave him

my pipe, he kissed me, a fine kiss and a long one.

Comatas

It is not right, Lacon, for jays to vie with the nightingale,

nor hoopoes with swans; but you, poor wretch, are quarrelsome.

Morson

I bid the shepherd cease. And to you, Comatas,

Morson gives the lamb; and you, when you have sacrificed

to the Nymphs, send Morson a fine portion of meat at once.

Comatas

I will send it, by Pan. Now snort, all my herd

of young goats; for see how loud I will laugh

over Lacon the shepherd, now that at last

I have won the lamb; I will leap to the sky for joy.

My horned goats, take heart; tomorrow I will bathe

you all in the waters of the Sybaris lake.

You there, Whitey, the butter, if you mount any

of the goats, I will geld you before I have made fair offering

of the lamb to the Nymphs. There he goes again. But may I become

Melanthius instead of Comatas, if I do not geld you.