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“The bronzèd Women, scorcht by burning clime, astraddle rode the slow-paced gentle Steer, beasts which their owners hold of beeves the prime, better than any of the herds they rear: Pastoral canticles, or prose, or rhyme, concerted in their mother-tongue we hear; and to the rustick reed sweet tunes they teach, as Tit’yrus chaunted ’neath his spreading beech.