Twofold teacher who while you spoke held your face before me like a book,
Here take your rest, deeper than the buried grain!
Here, where you cannot hear the noise of the roads or the fields, the sounds of ploughing and sowing,
Remembered only by me, in a place that no one knows,
And let not even this spade nor your staff like the broken oar of a sailor
Remain to mark your grave!
(He throws away the spade.
And now let us go!
Cébès: May I go with you?
Simon: Come.