"And don't you get the idea that he buys anything; everything is produced
at home, wool, pitch, pepper, if you asked for hen's milk you would get
it. Because he wanted his wool to rival other things in quality, he
bought rams at Tarentum and sent 'em into his flocks with a slap on the
arse. He had bees brought from Attica, so he could produce Attic honey
at home, and, as a side issue, so he could improve the native bees by
crossing with the Greek. He even wrote to India for mushroom seed one
day, and he hasn't a single mule that wasn't sired by a wild ass. Do you
see all those cushions? Not a single one but what is stuffed with either
purple or scarlet wool! He hasn't anything to worry about! Look out how
you criticise those other fellow-freedmen-friends of his, they're all
well heeled. See the fellow reclining at the bottom of the end couch?
He's worth his 800,000 any day, and he rose from nothing. Only a short
while ago he had to carry faggots on his own back. I don't know how true
it is, but they say that he snatched off an Incubo's hat and found a
treasure! For my part, I don't envy any man anything that was given him
by a god. He still carries the marks of his box on the ear, and he isn't
wishing himself any bad luck! He posted this notice, only the other day:
CAIUS POMPONIUS DIOGENES HAS
PURCHASED A HOUSE
THIS GARNET FOR RENT AFTER
THE KALENDS OF JULY.
"What do you think of the fellow in the freedman's place? He has a good
front, too, hasn't he? And he has a right to. He saw his fortune
multiplied tenfold, but he lost heavily through speculation at the last.
I don't think he can call his very hair his own, and it is no fault of
his either, by Hercules, it isn't. There's no better fellow anywhere his
rascally freedmen cheated him out of everything. You know very well how
it is; everybody's business is nobody's business, and once let business
affairs start to go wrong, your friends will stand from under! Look at
the fix he's in, and think what a fine trade he had! He used to be an
undertaker. He dined like a king, boars roasted whole in their shaggy
Bides, bakers' pastries, birds, cooks and bakers! More wine was spilled
under his table than another has in his wine cellar. His life was like a
pipe dream, not like an ordinary mortal's. When his affairs commenced to
go wrong, and he was afraid his creditors would guess that he was
bankrupt, he advertised an auction and this was his placard:
JULIUS PROCULUS WILL SELL AT
AUCTION HIS SUPERFLUOUS
FURNITURE"