And now, both leaders from the field recalled,Who hath the worser seeming, do to death,Lest royal waste wax burdensome, but letHis better lord it on the empty throne.One with gold-burnished flakes will shine like fire,For twofold are their kinds, the nobler he,Of peerless front and lit with flashing scales;That other, from neglect and squalor foul,Drags slow a cumbrous belly. As with kings,So too with people, diverse is their mould,Some rough and loathly, as when the wayfarerScapes from a whirl of dust, and scorched with heatSpits forth the dry grit from his parched mouth:The others shine forth and flash with lightning-gleam,Their backs all blazoned with bright drops of goldSymmetric: this the likelier breed; from these,When heaven brings round the season, thou shalt strainSweet honey, nor yet so sweet as passing clear,And mellowing on the tongue the wine-god's fire.