You’ll arrange your affairs more convincingly, Lycinus, when you make your requests in a moment. To go on, my dress will be of purple and my life the height of luxury, my sleep the sweetest possible. Friends will come and ask for favours and they’ll all bow down and grovel. Some of them will be walking up and down by my doors from dawn, among them Cleaenetus and Democritus, those great men, and, when they come and demand to be let in first, seven porters will stand there, tall barbarians, who will slam the door right in their faces, as they now do themselves. When I think fit I shall look out, like the rising sun. Some of them I shall not even look at, but if there is a poor man there, as I was before my treasure, I shall show him favour and bid him bathe and come back to dinner at the right time. But the others, the rich, will choke with envy when they see my carriages and horses and pretty slave-boys, two thousand of them, the flower of every age.