He paused for breath:  I falteringly strike in: 
“Have you a mother? have you kith or kin
To whom your life is precious?” “Not a soul: 
My line’s extinct:  I have interred the whole.” 
O happy they! (so into thought I fell)
After life’s endless babble they sleep well: 
My turn is next:  dispatch me:  for the weird
Has come to pass which I so long have feared,
The fatal weird a Sabine beldame sung,
All in my nursery days, when life was young: 
“No sword nor poison e’er shall take him off,
Nor gout, nor pleurisy, nor racking cough: 
A babbling tongue shall kill him:  let him fly
All talkers, as he wishes not to die.”

We got to Vesta’s temple, and the sun
Told us a quarter of the day was done. 
It chanced he had a suit, and was bound fast
Either to make appearance or be cast. 
“Step here a moment, if you love me.”  “Nay;
I know no law:  ’twould hurt my health to stay: 
And then, my call.”  “I’m doubting what to do,
Whether to give my lawsuit up or you. 
“Me, pray!” “I will not.”  On he strides again: 
I follow, unresisting, in his train.

“How stand you with Maecenas?” he began: 
“He picks his friends with care; a shrewd wise man: 
In fact, I take it, one could hardly name
A head so cool in life’s exciting game. 
’Twould be a good deed done, if you could throw
Your servant in his way; I mean, you know,
Just to play second:  in a month, I’ll swear,
You’d make an end of every rival there.” 
“O, you mistake:  we don’t live there in league: 
I know no house more sacred from intrigue: 
I’m never distanced in my friend’s good grace
By wealth or talent:  each man finds his place.” 
“A miracle! if ’twere not told by you,
I scarce should credit it.”  “And yet ’tis true.” 
“Ah, well, you double my desire to rise
To special favour with a man so wise.” 
“You’ve but to wish it:  ’twill be your own fault,
If, with your nerve, you win not by assault: 
He can be won:  that puts him on his guard,
And so the first approach is always hard.” 
“No fear of me, sir:  a judicious bribe
Will work a wonder with the menial tribe: 
Say, I’m refused admittance for to-day;
I’ll watch my time; I’ll meet him in the way,
Escort him, dog him.  In this world of ours
The path to what we want ne’er runs on flowers.”

’Mid all this prate there met us, as it fell,
Aristius, my good friend, who knew him well. 
We stop:  inquiries and replies go round: 
“Where do you hail from?” “Whither are you bound?”
There as he stood, impassive as a clod,
I pull at his limp arms, frown, wink, and nod,
To urge him to release me.  With a smile
He feigns stupidity:  I burn with bile. 
“Something there was you said you wished to tell
To me in private.”  “Ay, I mind it well;
But not just now:  ‘tis a Jews’ fast to-day: 
Affront a sect so touchy! nay, friend, nay.”