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Virgil

damoetas

60Ab Iove principium Musae: Iovis omnia plena; ille colit terras, illi mea carmina curae.

menalcas

Et me Phoebus amat; Phoebo sua semper apud me munera sunt, lauri et suave rubens hyacinthus.

damoetas

Malo me Galatea petit, lasciva puella, 65et fugit ad salices, et se cupit ante videri.

menalcas

At mihi sese offert ultro, meus ignis, Amyntas, notior ut iam sit canibus non Delia nostris.

damoetas

Parta meae Veneri sunt munera: namque notavi ipse locum, aëriae quo congessere palumbes.

menalcas

70Quod potui, puero silvestri ex arbore lecta aurea mala decem misi: cras altera mittam.

damoetas

r O quotiens et quae nobis Galatea locuta est! partem aliquam, venti, divum referatis ad auris.

menalcas

Quid prodest, quod me ipse animo non spernis, Amynta, 75si, dum tu sectaris apros, ego retia servo?

damoetas

Phyllida mitte mihi: meus est natalis, Iolla; cum faciam vitula pro frugibus, ipse venito.

  • 77vitula Macrobius 3.2.15, Servius: -am γR
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Eclogues

damoetas

With Jove my song begins; of Jove all things are full. He makes the earth fruitful; he cares for my verses.

menalcas

And me Phoebus loves; Phoebus always finds with me the presents he loves, laurels and sweet-blushing hyacinths.

damoetas

Galatea, saucy girl, pelts me with an apple, then runs off to the willows—and hopes I saw her first.

menalcas

But my boyfriend Amyntas comes to me unasked, so that now not Delia is better known to my dogs.

damoetas

I have found gifts for my darling; for I have myself marked where the wood pigeons have been nesting high in the sky.

menalcas

I have sent my boy—’twas all I could—ten golden apples, picked from a tree in the wood. Tomorrow I will send a second ten.

damoetas

O how many and how sweet the things that Galatea has whispered to me! Waft some part of them to the gods, ye winds.

menalcas

What good is it, Amyntas, that you scorn me not in heart, if while you pursue the boars, I am left to look after the nets?

damoetas

Send Phyllis to me; it is my birthday, Iollas. When I sacrifice a heifer for the harvest, come yourself.

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DOI: 10.4159/DLCL.virgil-eclogues.1916