For you, my friends, I’d have told the steward to make an allotment of minted gold: twenty bushels for Samippus, five quarts for Timolaus, and one quart for Lycinus levelled off with a strickle at that, because he’s a babbler and makes fun of my prayer. This is the life I wish to live, extravagant in wealth and luxury, enjoying every pleasure in fullest measure. I have spoken, and may Hermes bring it to fulfilment!
Do you know, Adimantus, by what exceedingly thin thread all this wealth is hanging? If it snaps, then all is gone and your treasure will be ashes.
What do you mean, Lycinus?
That, my fine friend, you don’t know how long you will live with your wealth. Who knows that when your golden table is beside you, before you can put out your hand and sample the peacock or your guinea cock, you will not breathe out your little bit of soul and be gone, leaving all that for vultures and ravens? Would you like me to run through for you those who died at once before they had a chance to enjoy their wealth, or some who even though they lived on were robbed of what they had by some spirit malignant in such matters? You have heard, I suppose, of Croesus and Polycrates who became much richer than you and lost all their good things in a moment.