. . . . . . . . in two days now, if that is best, let us clench our teeth all the same; and as you are just recovering from illness, to shorten the journey, wait for us at Caieta. I begin to be dainty,1 as generally happens with those who have at last in their grasp what they long for: they are carried away,2 they feel in affluence, they are exultant: for myself, however, I am even disgusted with everything. My Lady mother greets you. I shall ask her to-day to bring Gratia to me—even the smoke of one's fatherland, as the Greek poet3 says. Farewell, my—all in all—master. I love myself at the thought of seeing you.
145–147 A.D.
To my Lord.