_Pis._ (_to Petr._). You, sir, would underrate high qualities, Being proved in them yourself. Bithynia Praises you still, though Rome forgets your zeal In the grace of your retirement. Will you never Mix in affairs again? _Pet._ Nothing could tempt me. 1220 The very thought of travelling wearies me, And the occupation of the mind in matters That any clerk is fit for.—Yet I praise The world and all its fret: its vanity, Advertisement, vulgarity and dirt Are precious for one thing; they make retirement Positive joy. Blest are the gods who sit On changeless seats. I think they framed the world That they might look upon it and rejoice They lived not in it: that’s its use to me. _Luc._ True, as Rome says, Petronius, thou art steeped In gross epicurism. _Pet._ Bravo, stoic! I may be what men say: yet very few Are what they show the world: there’s a screw-twist In every mind. It is the sensuous man Follows asceticism: the passionate man Who is practised in reserve. Why _Know thyself_, Unless to hide thyself? Look at the houses Of our philosophers: the epicurean, Who holds the happiness of life depends 1240 On small accessories, lives in discomfort: The stoic, he who says all outward matters Concern him not a pin, orders his home With scrupulous care; however nice your taste, There’s not a better host. _QUINTIAN._ You’d tell us then You set no store by elegance and culture. _Pet._ Eh! I´ may bé an exception, sir: and yet I’d have you think I most love elegance Where ’tis most rare and out of reach of the world. I’d not without reserve praise Lucan’s style 1250 In poetry. _SCEVINUS._ Nor his matter. _Se^{o.}_ Yes, his matter, Where he laments the fall of the republic; ‘_But if the fates could find no other way For Cæsar to succeed_’ ... what was’t he said? _Qu._ ‘_All crimes and horrors we with joy regard, Since thou, O Nero, art our great reward._’ (_Laughter._) _Luc._ Let that be read with what I have written since. What thinkest thou, Senecio, of the days When thou wert Nero’s darling? If what thou didst Be as well condoned by what thou goest to do, As what I wrote shall be by what I write, Thou’lt be a hero. _Sce._ Hear, hear! _Pet._ (_who has motioned the slaves out_). Really, sirs, You grow obscure. _Pis._ Explain. _Sce._ Ay, speak your mind. _Luc._ I ask then, is Senecio still content To share in Nero’s deeds? _Se^{o.}_ Nay, I abjure them. _Luc._ (_coming to him_). Patriot, I take thy hand! _Sce._ And I. _Qu._ And I.