Horace (Quintus Horatius Flaccus) - 1.9.1. lyrics

By chance I was strolling the Sacred Way, and musing, As I do, on some piece of nonsense, wholly absorbed, When up runs a man I know only by name, who grabs Me by the hand, crying: ‘How do you do, dear old thing?' ‘Fine, as it happens,' I answer, ‘and best wishes to you.' As he follows me, I add: ‘You're after something? He: ‘You should get to know me better, I'm learned. I: ‘I congratulate you on that.' Desperately trying To flee, now I walk fast, now halt, and whisper a word In the ear of my boy, as the sweat's drenching me Head to foot. While the fellow rattles on, praising Street after street, the whole city, I silently whisper, ‘Oh Bolan*s, to have your quick temper! Since I'm not Replying, he says: ‘You're dreadfully eager to go: I've seen that a while: but it's no use: I'll hold you fast: I'll follow you wherever you're going.' ‘No need For you to be dragged around: I'm off to see someone You don't know: he's ill on the far side of Tiber, Near Caesar's Garden.' ‘I've nothing to do, I'm a walker: I'll follow.' Down go my ears like a sulky donkey, When the load's too much for his back. Then he starts: ‘'If I know anything, you'd not find a superior friend In Viscus or Varius: who can write more, who can write Faster than me? Who can dance more delicately? Even Hermogenes would envy me when I sing.' Here was my chance to break in: ‘Haven't you a mother, Relations who need you at home?' ‘No, no one: they're all At rest.' Fortunate people! Only I'm left. Despatch me: Now the sad fate approaches an old Sabine woman Uttered when I was a child, rattling her diviner's urn: ‘No deadly poison shall slay him, no enemy blade shall destroy him, No pleurisy carry him off, no lingering gout or cough: Garrulous the man who'll consume him at last: the talkers He'll take good care to avoid if he's wise, as he grows older.'