Dellius, that car which, night and day, Lightnings and thunders arm and scourge— Tumultuous down the Appian Way— Be slow to urge. Though reckless Lydia bid thee fly, And Telephus o’ertaking jeer, Nay, sit and strongly occupy The lower gear. They call, the road consenting, “Haste!”— Such as delight in dust collected— Until arrives (I too have raced! ) The unexpected. What ox not doomed to die alone, Or inauspicious hound, may bring Thee ’twixt two kisses to the throne Of Hades’ King, I cannot tell; the Furies send No warning ere their bolts arrive. ’Tis best to reach our chosen end Late but alive.