I have sent my Gratia1 to keep your mother's birthday with her, and bidden her stay there till I come. The very moment, however, that I have laid down my consulship with the customary oath2 I shall climb into my carriage and fly off to you. Meanwhile, I have pledged my word that my Gratia shall run no risk of starvation. For your mother will share with her protégée the tit-bits sent her by you. Nor is my Gratia a great eater, as lawyer's wives are said to be. She will live contentedly enough even on nothing but your mother's kisses. But what will become of poor me? There is not even a single kiss left anywhere in Rome. All my fortunes, all my joys are at Naples.
Tell me, I beseech you, what is the custom of laying down an office under oath a day earlier. What, am I not ready to swear by as many more gods as I can swear myself out of office days sooner? Again, am I to swear that I resign my consulship? Yea, and I will swear this, too, that I have long wished to resign it, that I may embrace Marcus Aurelius.
143 A.D.
To the most honourable consul and my best of masters.