Theocritus - Third Idyll lyrics

I go to sing of Amaryllis. So my goats Feed on the mountainside, and Tityrus them drives. O Tityrus, well loved by me, feed them, And lead them to the spring, o Tityrus. Do watch The Libyan he-goat, Cnecon, lest he headbu*t you. O charming Amaryllis, why no longer, from that cave When peeping, do you call me, your beloved? Do you hate me? Do I to you seem stub-nosed when nearby, O Nymph, and long of beard? You'll make me hang myself. Behold, ten apples you I bear. I took them from that place Just as you bade me take. Tomorrow others yet I'll bring. Observe indeed my soul-sad grief. If only I'd been born A buzzing bee and to your cave had come, Ignoring th' ivy and the fern which you encrowns. Now I am wise to Love: a weighty god. Yea, lioness' Breast nourished him, and she, his mother, in the wood reared him Who, burning me down to the bone, severely wounds. O easy to behold though hard like stone; o dark-browed nymph, Embrace you me, a goatherd, that I may kiss you; There's even in vain kisses sweet delight. At once you'll make me pluck my garland thin, Which I, dear Amaryllis, carry now, Who've woven it from ivy shells and sweet-aired celery. O woe! Why do I suffer, ruined. Why? You don't reply? I'll stripping off my peltcoat flee thence to the waves Where for the tunnies fisher Olpis keeps a watch. And if I were to drown, it surely your delight would be. I learned it long ago when, wond'ring whether you loved me, In no way did the love-in-absence stick, its fold, But just the same from on my slender arm did wisp away. Agreo spoke the truth– a seer by the sieve, Who th' other day, while sheaving, gleaned– that I To you am full devout, though you say not a word of me. Indeed, you know, the white, twice-childed goat I watch, Which Mermnon's servant-girl, the dark-skinned one, Requests of me. And I shall give, since you are prude with me. My right eye is aquiver. Shall I see Her? I shall sing beside the pine, thus as I lean. And she perhaps might see me, since she's not like steel. Hippomenes, when he a maiden wished to wed, With apples in his hand took his course, and Atlanta, as She saw him, she went mad, and lept into deep Love. The seer Melampus withal from Orthys led the flock To Pylus. She in Bias' arms reclined, The graceful mother of wise Alphesibea. Did not Adonis, feeding his sheep on the mountains, thus Lead fair Cytherea to so great a store of raving love, That, even as he died, she put him not apart her breast? To me Endymion, who slumbers in eternal dream, Is lucky, and I envy, lady dear, Iasion, Who gained as much as you impure are not to know. My head hurts, but you aren't concerned. No longer shall I sing But fallen lie. The wolves thus eat me up, Let that to you be sweet as honey going down your throat.