This Idyl begins with a ribald debate between two hirelings, who, at
last, compete with each other in a match of pastoral song. No other
idyl of Theocritus is so frankly true to the rough side of rustic
manners. The scene is in Southern Italy.

Comatas. Goats of mine, keep clear of that notorious shepherd of
Sibyrtas, that Lacon; he stole my goat-skin yesterday.

Lacon. Will ye never leave the well-head? Off, my lambs, see ye not
Comatas; him that lately stole my shepherd's pipe?

Comatas. What manner of pipe might that be, for when gat'st THOU a
pipe, thou slave of Sibyrtas? Why does it no more suffice thee to
keep a flute of straw, and whistle with Corydon?

Lacon. What pipe, free sir? why, the pipe that Lycon gave me. And
what manner of goat-skin hadst thou, that Lacon made off with? Tell
me, Comatas, for truly even thy master, Eumarides, had never a goat-
skin to sleep in.

Comatas. 'Twas the skin that Crocylus gave me, the dappled one, when
he sacrificed the she-goat to the nymphs; but thou, wretch, even then
wert wasting with envy, and now, at last, thou hast stripped me bare!

Lacon. Nay verily, so help me Pan of the seashore, it was not Lacon
the son of Calaethis that filched the coat of skin. If I lie,
sirrah, may I leap frenzied down this rock into the Crathis!