I have found out how much you owe Phormio.

I thought your dead uncle had left you a moderately large estate for a young man.

Where has it gone to?
Don't try to conceal it! It's been eaten up and drunk up--spent away for unguents, washed away in your baths, the fish-dealer and the caterer have made way with it, yes, and butchers and cooks, and greengrocers and perfume sellers, and poulterers--not to mention people more scandalous--have made off with it." Lucius stretched himself out on the divan, caught at a thick, richly embroidered pillow, tossed it over his head on to the floor, yawned, raised himself again upright, and said drawlingly:-- "Y-e-s, it's as you say.

I find I spend every sesterce I have, and all I can borrow.

But so long as Phormio is accommodating, I don't trouble myself very much about the debts." "Lucius," said Domitius, sternly, "you are a graceless spendthrift.