et quidam seros hiberni ad luminis ignes pervigilat ferroque faces inspicat acuto; interea longum cantu solata laborem arguto coniunx percurrit pectine telas, aut dulcis musti Volcano decoquit umorem et foliis undam trepidi despumat ani.
One I know spends wakeful hours by the late blaze of a winter fire, and with sharp knife points torches; his wife the while solaces with song her long toil, runs the shrill shuttle through the web, or on the fire boils down the sweet juice of must, and skims with leaves the froth of the bubbling cauldron.
final_alignments\Virgil_Georgics.json