wreathed round them by the graver's facile tool,twines over clustering ivy-berries pale.Two figures, one Conon, in the midst he set,and one—how call you him, who with his wandmarked out for all men the whole round of heaven,that they who reap, or stoop behind the plough,might know their several seasons? Nor as yethave I set lip to them, but lay them by.DAMOETASFor me too wrought the same Alcimedona pair of cups, and round the handles wreathedpliant acanthus, Orpheus in the midst,the forests following in his wake; nor yethave I set lip to them, but lay them by.Matched with a heifer, who would prate of cups?MENALCASYou shall not balk me now; where'er you bid,I shall be with you; only let us havefor auditor—or see, to serve our turn,yonder Palaemon comes! In singing-boutsi'll see you play the challenger no more.DAMOETASOut then with what you have; I shall not shrink,