BATTUS.
Dost milk them in the gloaming, when none is nigh to see?

CORYDON.
The old man brings the calves to suck, and keeps an eye on me.

BATTUS.
And to what region then hath flown the cattle's rightful lord?

CORYDON.
Hast thou not heard? With Milo he vanished Elis-ward.

BATTUS.
How! was the wrestler's oil e'er yet so much as seen by him?

CORYDON.
Men say he rivals Heracles in lustiness of limb.

BATTUS.
I'm Polydeuces' match (or so my mother says) and more.

CORYDON.
--So off he started; with a spade, and of these ewes a score.

BATTUS.
This Milo will be teaching wolves how they should raven next.

CORYDON.
--And by these bellowings his kine proclaim how sore they're vexed.