the mother of twins, and even when she has suckled her kids her milk
doth fill two pails. A deep bowl of ivy-wood, too, I will give thee,
rubbed with sweet bees'-wax, a twy-eared bowl newly wrought, smacking
still of the knife of the graver. Round its upper edges goes the ivy
winding, ivy besprent with golden flowers; and about it is a tendril
twisted that joys in its saffron fruit. Within is designed a maiden,
as fair a thing as the gods could fashion, arrayed in a sweeping
robe, and a snood on her head. Beside her two youths with fair love-
locks are contending from either side, with alternate speech, but her
heart thereby is all untouched. And now on one she glances, smiling,
and anon she lightly flings the other a thought, while by reason of
the long vigils of love their eyes are heavy, but their labour is all
in vain.

Beyond these an ancient fisherman and a rock are fashioned, a rugged
rock, whereon with might and main the old man drags a great net for
his cast, as one that labours stoutly. Thou wouldst say that he is
fishing with all the might of his limbs, so big the sinews swell all
about his neck, grey-haired though he be, but his strength is as the
strength of youth. Now divided but a little space from the sea-worn
old man is a vineyard laden well with fire-red clusters, and on the
rough wall a little lad watches the vineyard, sitting there. Round
him two she-foxes are skulking, and one goes along the vine-rows to
devour the ripe grapes, and the other brings all her cunning to bear
against the scrip, and vows she will never leave the lad, till she
strand him bare and breakfastless. But the boy is plaiting a pretty
locust-cage with stalks of asphodel, and fitting it with reeds, and
less care of his scrip has he, and of the vines, than delight in his
plaiting.