Towards thee they have nothing but vengeance. Innumerable are they, and it is not thy lot to be a fly-flap. Thou wilt yet break and burst by the numerous drops. Too proud art thou to kill these sweet-tooths. They want to be close to thy skin and thy blood.
Flatterers are they, and whimperers, and nothing more.
Often, also, do they show themselves to thee as amiable ones. But that hath ever been the prudence of the cowardly. Whatever is much thought about is at last thought suspicious. They punish thee for all thy virtues. What we recognise in a man, we also irritate in him.