had I, to shelter my new-weaned lambs,and no slight matter was a singing-bout'twixt Corydon and Thyrsis. Howsoe'er,I let my business wait upon their sport.So they began to sing, voice answering voicein strains alternate—for alternate strainsthe Muses then were minded to recall—first Corydon, then Thyrsis in reply.CORYDON“Libethrian Nymphs, who are my heart's delight,grant me, as doth my Codrus, so to sing—next to Apollo he—or if to thiswe may not all attain, my tuneful pipehere on this sacred pine shall silent hang.”THYRSIS“Arcadian shepherds, wreathe with ivy-sprayyour budding poet, so that Codrus burstwith envy: if he praise beyond my due,