HORACE (_politely_): Nicely at present. I'm at your service, sir. (HORACE _walks on, and as the_ BORE _keeps following, tries to choke him off_.) You don't want anything, do you? BORE: You must make my acquaintance, I'm a savant. HORACE: Then I'll think the more of you. (HORACE, _anxious to get away, walks fast one minute, halts the next, whispers something to his attendant slave, and is bathed in perspiration all over. Then, quietly to himself_) Lucky Bolanus, with your hot temper! BORE (_whose chatter on things in general, and about the streets of Rome in particular, has been received with dead silence_): You're frightfully keen to be off. I've noticed it all along. But it's no good. I'm going to stick to you right through. I'll escort you from here to your destination. HORACE (_deprecatingly_): No need for you to make such a detour. (_Inventing fibs as he goes along_) There's someone I want to look up--a person you don't know, on the other side of the river--yes, far away--he's confined to bed--near Cæsar's Park. BORE: Oh, I've nothing to do, and I don't dislike exercise. I'll follow you right there. (HORACE _is as crestfallen as a sulky donkey when an extra heavy load is dumped upon its back. The_ BORE _continues_) If I know myself, you'll not value Viscus more highly as a friend, or Varius either; for who can write verses faster, and more of them, than I can? Who's a greater master of deportment? As for my singing, it's enough to make even Hermogenes jealous! HORACE (_seizing the chance of interrupting_): Have you a mother--any relatives to whom your health is of moment? BORE: Not one left. I've laid them all to rest. HORACE: Lucky people! Now I'm the sole survivor. Do for _me_! The melancholy fate draws near which a fortune-telling Sabellian crone once prophesied in my boyhood: "This lad neither dread poison nor hostile sword shall take off, nor pleurisy, nor cough, nor crippling gout. A chatterbox will one day be his death!" BORE (_realising that, as it is the hour for opening the law course, he must answer to his recognisances, or lose a suit to which he is a party_): Oblige me with your assistance in court for a little. HORACE: Deuce take me if I've strength to hang about so long, or know any law. Besides, I'm hurrying, you know where. BORE: I'm in a fix what to do--whether to give you up or my case. HORACE: Me, please. BORE: Shan't! (_Starts ahead of_ HORACE, _who, beaten at every point, has to follow. The other opens conversation again_.) On what footing do you and Mæcenas stand? HORACE (_haughtily_): He has a select circle, and thoroughly sound judgment. BORE (_unimpressed_): Ah! No one ever made a smarter use of his chances. You'd have a powerful supporter, a capable understudy, if you'd agree to introduce your humble servant. Deuce take me if you wouldn't clear everybody out of your way.