1 There on the bank those vipers lie, thrice-seven, having cast their skins: now we with their discarded sloughs bind close and cover up the eyes of the malicious highway thief, by God's leave.

2 Far let her go, cutting her way, brandishing, as it were, a club: diverted be the new-born's mind: ne'er are the wicked prosperous.

3 Not many have had power enough; the feeble ones have not prevailed, like scattered fragments of a reed: ne'er are the wicked prosperous.

4 Go forward, feet, press quickly on, bring to the house of him who pays. Unconquered and unplundered, let God, foremost, lead the way.