Eclogue

1    I|         rushy mire, your ewes with young~By no strange fodder will
2  III|          they saw me slash~Micon’s young vines and trees with spiteful
3  III| milking-pail, and feeds withal~Two young ones at her udder: say you
4  III|         your Phyllis; when for the young crops~I slay my heifer,
5  III|          to the corn, to ewes with young~Lithe willow, as arbute
6   VI|       Pierian Maids! Within a cave~Young Chromis and Mnasyllos chanced
7   VI|           beginnings grew,~And the young world itself took solid
8  VII|       antlers of a sprightly stag,~Young Micon offers: if his luck