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 prating met me, 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 like a clod,
I pull at his limp arms, frown, wink, and nod,
To urge him to release me. With a smile