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Slay him, and instead let a worthier rule.'

Clotho replied: `I did so wish to give him just a little longer, just enough time to make Roman citizens of the few outsiders who still remain: he had set his heart, you know, on seeing the whole world dressed in the white gown - Greece, France, Spain, even Britain. Still, if you think that a few foreigners ought to be kept for breeding purposes, and you really order me to put an end to him, it shall be done.' She opened her box and produced three spindles: one was for Augurinus, one for Baba, and the third for Claudius. `These are to die in the same year quite close to each other, because I don't want him to go off unattended it would be very wrong for him to be suddenly left alone, after always having had so many thousands marching before him and trailing behind him, and crowding up against him from either side. He will be grateful for these two friends of his as travelling companions.'

She spoke, and round the ugly spindle twined

The thread of that fool's life, then snapped it close.

But Lachesis, her tresses neatly prinked

And on her brow Pierian laurel set,

Plucks from a fleece new threads as white as snow

Which, as she draws' them through her happy hand,

Change hue. Her sisters at the marvel gaze. Not common wool,

this, but rich thread of gold,

That runs on, century by century,

Termless. They pluck; the fleeces with good will.

Rejoicing in their task, so dear the wooclass="underline"

Nay, the thread spins itself, no task for them,

And as the spindle turns, drops silken down,

Passing Tithonus' lengthy count of years

(Aurora's husband) and old Nestor's count.

Phoebus attends, and from a hopeful breast

Chants as they work, and plucks upon his lyre

And otherwhiles himself assists the task.

Thus the Three Sisters hardly know they spin;

Too close intent on the sweet strains they hear,

And rapt with praise of their great brother's song,

They spin more than the fated human span.

Yet Phoebus cries: 'My Sisters, be it thus

Cut no years short from this illustrious life,

For he whose life you spin, my counterpart,

Yields not to me either in face or grace

For beauty, nor for sweetness in his song.

He is it, who'll restore the age of gold

And break the ban has silenced all the laws.

He is sweet Lucifer who puts to flight

The lesser stars; or Hesperus is he

Who swims up clear when back the stars return;

Nay, rather he's the Sun himself, what time

The blushing Goddess of the Dawn leads in

The earliest light of day, dispersed the shades

The Sun himself with shining countenance

Who pores upon the world, and from the gates

Of his dark prison whirls his chariot out.

A very Sun is NERO and all Rome

Shall look on NERO with bedazzled eyes,

His face ashine with regal majesty

And lovelocks rippling on his shapely neck.'

Apollo had spoken.

But Lachesis, who had an eye for a handsome man herself,

went on spinning and spinning

and bestowed a great many years

more on NERO as her own personal gift.

As for Claudius, they tell everyone to

Be of good cheer, and from these halls

Speed him with not impious lips.

And he really did bubble up the ghost at last,

and that was the end even of the old pretence

that he was alive.

(He passed away while listening to a performance given by some comedians,

so now you know that I have good cause to be wary, of the profession.) The last words that he was heard to utter in this world followed immediately upon a tremendous noise from the part of his body with which he always talked most readily. They were: `0 good Heavens, I believe I've made a mess of myself!' Whether this was actually so or not, I cannot say: but everyone agrees that he always made a mess of things.

It would be waste of time to relate what afterwards happened or earth. You all know, very well what happened. Nobody forgets his own good luck, so there's no fear of your ever forgetting the popular outburst of joy that followed the news of Claudius's death. But let me tell you what happened in Heaven; and if you don't believe me, there's my informant to confirm it all. First, a message came to Jove that someone was at the gate, a tallish man, with white hair; he seemed to be uttering some threat or other because he kept on shaking his head; and when he walked he- dragged his right foot.. He had been asked his nationality and had answered in a confused nervous manner, and his language could not be identified. It was not Greek or Latin or any other known speech. Jove told Hercules, who had once travelled over the whole earth and so might be expected to know all nations in it, to go and find out where the stranger came from. Hercules went, and though he had never been daunted by all the monsters in the world, he really got quite a shock at the sight of this new sort of creature, with its curious mode of progression and its raucous inarticulate voice, which was like that of no known terrestrial animal but suggested some strange beast of the sea. Hercules thought that his Thirteenth Labour was upon him. However, he looked more closely and decided that it was some kind of a man. He went up to it and said what a Greek naturally would say:

Most honoured stranger, let me now demand Thy name, thy lineage, thy paternal land.

Claudius was pleased to find himself among literary men. He hoped to find some niche in Heaven for his historical works. So he replied with another quotation, also from Homer, which conveyed the fact that he was Claudius Caesar:

The winds my vessel bore From ravaged Troy to the Ciconian shore.

But the next verse was much truer and just as Homeric:

And boldly disembarking there and then, I sacked a, city, murdering all its men.

And he would have made Hercules, who is not particularly brightwitted, take this literally, if there had not been someone in attendance on Claudius - the Goddess Fever. She alone of the Gods and Goddesses of Rome had left her temple and come along with him. And what she said was: `The man's lying. I can tell you everything about him, because I have lived with him for very many years now. He was born at Lyons, a fellow citizen of Marcus's. Yes, a native Celt, born at the sixteenth milestone from Vienne: so of course he conquered Rome, as any good Celt would. I give you my honest word that he was born at Lyons - you know Lyons, surely? It's the place where Licinus was king for so long. Surely you know Lyons, you who have covered more miles in the course of your travels than any country carrier? And you must know, too, that it's a long way from the Lycian Xanthus to the Rhone.' .This stung Claudius, and he registered his anger in the loudest roar he could command. Nobody could make out exactly what he was saying, but as a matter of fact he was ordering the Goddess Fever to be removed from his presence and making the customary sign with his trembling hand (always steady enough for that, though for practically nothing else) for her head to be cut off But for all the attention that was paid to this order you might have thought that the people present were his own freedmen.