Y our brother but now brought me the good news of your arrival. Heaven knows I long for you to be able to come, if only your health will allow of it, for I hope that the sight of you may do something for my health also. Sweet 'tis to look into a friend's kind eyes, as Euripides,1 I take it, says. My present condition you can easily gauge by the shakiness of my handwriting. As far as my strength is concerned, it is certainly beginning to come back. The pain in my chest, too, is quite gone; but the ulcer . . . . the trachea. I am under treatment and taking every care that nothing militates against its success. For I feel that my protracted illness can be made more bearable only by a consciousness of unfailing care and strict obedience2 to the doctors' orders. Besides, it were shame, indeed, that a disease of the body should outlast a determination of the mind to recover health. Farewell, my most delightful of masters. My mother greets you.
? 144–145 A.D.
To my Lord.