Nero sat in silence for a moment; then, seeing that those present expected some answer, he said,—
"I have reared a serpent in my bosom."
Petronius shrugged his shoulders, as if to say that it was not difficult to pluck the head from such a serpent.
"What wilt thou say? Speak, advise!" exclaimed Nero, noticing this motion. "I trust in thee alone, for thou hast more sense than all of them, and thou lovest me."
Petronius had the following on his lips: "Make me pretorian prefect, I will deliver Tigellinus to the people, and pacify the city in a day." But his innate slothfulness prevailed. To be prefect meant to bear on his shoulder's Caesar's person and also thousands of public affairs. And why should he perform that labor? Was it not better to read poetry in his splendid library, look at vases and statues, or hold to his breast the divine body of Eunice, twining her golden hair through his fingers, and inclining his lips to her coral mouth? Hence he said,—