But, as this great match was by Corydon
And Thyrsis planned, I must prefer their joy
To my affairs. So both began the fray
In verse alternate. Muses, lend your aid
To 'mind me of the answering of their verse.
These Corydon did say, and Thyrsis those.
Corydon.Nymphs of Libethins, I your worshipper
Now crave from you this boon, either to grant
To me the gift of song, as once ye gave
To Codrus, who strings verses that may rank
Nearest to Phœbus' own—or, as indeed
Not all of us may win, then will I hang
My tuneful pipe upon your sacred pine.
Thyrsis.Arcadian shepherds, deck with ivy wreaths
Your rising poet, that with envy torn
Codrus may burst, or, should he praise too much
Then bind my brow with foxglove, that his tongue
May work no evil to the future bard.
Corydon.O Delia, at thy feet now lay I down
An offering—this head of bristled boar;
And the young Micon prays thee to accept
The branching antlers of the long-lived stag.
Had it been fitting, thou shouldst stand erect
In polished marble shown, with buskins red.
Thyrsis.A bowl of milk, Priapus, and these cakes,
Thou, year by year, mayest look for, and no more.
Of a poor garden, thou the keeper art.
For the time being, marble is thy form,
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