“ ‘The flocks you see are all my own; beside The rest that woods and winding valleys hide, And those that folded in the caves abide. Ask not the numbers of my growing store; Who knows how many, knows he has no more: Nor will I praise my cattle, trust not me, But judge yourself, and pass your own decree: Behold their swelling dugs, the sweepy weight Of ewes, that sink beneath the milky freight; In the warm folds their tender lambkins lie, Apart from kids, that call with human cry. New milk in nut-brown bowls is duly served For daily drink; the rest for cheese reserved. Nor are these household dainties all my store: The fields and forests will afford us more; The deer, the hare, the goat, the savage boar. All sorts of venison; and of birds the best; A pair of turtles taken from the nest. I walk’d the mountains, and two cubs I found, (Whose dam had left them on the naked ground,) So like, that no distinction could be seen: So pretty, they were presents for a queen; And so they shall: I took them both away, And keep to be companions of your play.