Chorus
When the grasshopper sings his dulcet tune, [1160] I love to see the Lemnian vines beginning to ripen, the earliest plant of all. [1165] Likewise I love to watch the fig filling out, and when it has reached maturity I eat it with appreciation, exclaiming, “Oh! delightful season!” Then too I bruise some thyme and infuse it in water. [1170] Indeed I grow a great deal fatter passing the summer in this way . . .