so shall your children's children pluck their fruit.”Time carries all things, even our wits, away.Oft, as a boy, I sang the sun to rest,but all those songs are from my memory fled,and even his voice is failing Moeris now;the wolves eyed Moeris first: but at your wishMenalcas will repeat them oft enow.LYCIDASYour pleas but linger out my heart's desire:now all the deep is into silence hushed,and all the murmuring breezes sunk to sleep.We are half-way thither, for Bianor's tombbegins to show: here, Moeris, where the hindsare lopping the thick leafage, let us sing.Set down the kids, yet shall we reach the town;or, if we fear the night may gather rainere we arrive, then singing let us go,our way to lighten; and, that we may thusgo singing, I will case you of this load.MOERISCease, boy, and get we to the work in hand:we shall sing better when himself is come.