Slain Hasdrubal, and Victory’s grace,
First granted on that glorious day.’
‘That is a compliment to my ancestors, not to me,’ said Nero; ‘but I will let you off, for, though I am Rex, I am not Tyrannus.’
‘Now, Petronius, you are a poet, so I am going to give you a hard command. I will give you five minutes, and you are to produce a line which shall read the same backwards and forwards.’
‘Impossible, Cæsar,’ said Petronius.
‘Nevertheless, I require the impossibility, or you will have to drink by way of fine at least nine cyathi of neat Falernian.’
With humble apologies, Petronius seized his tablets, and before the five minutes had expired he read the line—
‘Roma tibi subito motibus ibit Amor.’
‘Your line is not Latin, and does not make sense,’ said Nero. ‘I should have told you to make me a compliment instead of our grave Licinianus. But now, Senecio, I order you to quote the epitaph which best expresses your view of life.’
Senecio obeyed, and his selection was very characteristic. It was—