20.  What then do I mean?  I am no proficient in virtue without reward, having not attained to so high a degree of virtue.  Give me the reward of my labours.  What reward?  Not that which some, prone to any suspicion would suppose, but that which it is safe for me to seek.  Give me a respite from my long labours; give honour to my foreign service; elect another in my place, the one who is being eagerly sought on your behalf, someone who is clean of hands, someone who is not unskilled in voice, someone who is able to gratify you on all points, and share with you the ecclesiastical cares; for this is especially the time for such.  But behold, I pray you, the condition of this body, so drained by time, by disease, by toil.  What need have you of a timid and unmanly old man, who is, so to speak, dying day by day, not only in body, but even in powers of mind, who finds it difficult to enter into these details before you?  Disobey not the voice of your teacher:  for indeed you have never yet disobeyed it.  I am weary of being charged with my gentleness.  I am weary of being assailed in words and in envy by enemies, and by our own.  Some aim at my breast, and are less successful in their effort, for an open enemy can be guarded against.  Others lie in wait for my back, and give greater pain, for the unsuspected blow is the more fatal.  If again I have been a pilot, I have been one of the most skilful; the sea has been boisterous around us, boiling about the ship, and there has been considerable uproar among the passengers, who have always been fighting about something or another, and roaring against one another and the waves.  What a struggle I have had, seated at the helm, contending alike with the sea and the passengers, to bring the vessel safe to land through this double storm?  Had they in every way supported me, safety would have been hardly won, and when they were opposed to me, how has it been possible to avoid making shipwreck?