M. Quid tacitus, Corydon, vultuque subinde minaci quidve sub hac platano, quam garrulus adstrepit umor, insueta statione sedes?
M. Corydon, why sit you silent with a visage that bodes something ever and anon? Why sit you in an unwonted place, beneath this plane-tree at whose roots brawl the prattling waters?
final_alignments\Calpernius_Siculus_Bucolics.json