Dialogues of the Dead (16.4-17.2)

True enough. Take me, for example—how much of mine has Thucritus devoured! Yet he always seemed on the point of death, and whenever I came in, would be groaning to himself, and his voice would be as faint and squeaky as an unfledged chicken straight from the egg; and so I, thinking I’d be putting him in his coffin any minute, would send in most of what he got, [*] so that my rivals in love should not outdo me in generosity, and usually I lay awake at night, sleepless with worry, calculating each penny and arranging each move. It is this that has caused my death—the loss of sleep and the worry. But he gobbled down all that bait, and turned up the other day to gloat at my funeral.

Well done, Thucritus! Long may you live to keep your wealth, and, at the same time, have the laugh on fellows like that! May you never die till you have seen the funeral of all these toadies!

It will give me too, the greatest pleasure Pluto, under the circumstances, if Charoeades is another to die before Thucritus.

Don’t worry, Terpsion. Not only he but Phidon and Melanthus, and, in fact, all of them will come here before him through the same worries.

I’m glad to hear it. Long life to you, Thucritus.

Well, Callidemides, how did you die? I used to be a parasite of Dinias, and choked myself to death by eating too much, as you know; for you were there when I died.

Yes, I was there, Zenophantus. But my death was a strange one. I think you know Ptoeodorus, the old man?

The rich man with no children? I knew you were often with him.

I was always most attentive to him, because he promised I would benefit by his death. But since the matter was taking an unconscionable time, and he was living to be older than Tithonus, I found a short cut to the inheritance. I bought poison, and persuaded his butler, next time he asked for wine—he’s a pretty heavy drinker, you know—to have the poison ready in the cup, and give it to him. I promised him his freedom, if he did it.

Well, what happened? Your story looks like being a strange one.

When we’d come in after our bath, the lad had two cups ready, one with the poison for Ptoeodorus, and the other for me, but somehow he made a mistake, giving me the poison, and Ptoeodorus the harmless cup. A moment later, while he was still drinking, I was lying my full length on the floor, and the wrong man was dead. Why do you find it amusing, Zenophantus? You oughtn’t to laugh at a friend.

Well, it was a droll thing to happen. But what did the old man do?

At first he was a little put out by the suddenness of it all, but then he understood what had happened, I suppose, and laughed himself to see what his butler had done.

But you oughtn’t to have taken that short cut; you’d have been surer of getting him here by the highway, even if he was a little slow in coming.