there sing thy country song, tread thine own ground and keep thine
oaks to thyself. But who, who shall judge between us? Would that
Lycopas, the neatherd, might chance to come this way!

Comatas. I want nothing with him, but that man, if thou wilt, that
woodcutter we will call, who is gathering those tufts of heather near
thee. It is Morson.

Lacon. Let us shout, then!

Comatas. Call thou to him.

Lacon. Ho, friend, come hither and listen for a little while, for we
two have a match to prove which is the better singer of country song.
So Morson, my friend, neither judge me too kindly, no, nor show him
favour.

Comatas. Yes, dear Morson, for the nymphs' sake neither lean in thy
judgment to Comatas, nor, prithee, favour HIM. The flock of sheep
thou seest here belongs to Sibyrtas of Thurii, and the goats, friend,
that thou beholdest are the goats of Eumarides of Sybaris.

Lacon. Now, in the name of Zeus did any one ask thee, thou make-
mischief, who owned the flock, I or Sibyrtas? What a chatterer thou
art!

Comatas. Best of men, I am for speaking the whole truth, and
boasting never, but thou art too fond of cutting speeches.

Lacon. Come, say whatever thou hast to say, and let the stranger get