I f any sleep comes back to you after the wakeful nights of which you complain, I beseech you write to me and, above all, I beseech you take care of your health. Then hide somewhere and bury that "axe of Tenedos,"1 which you hold over us, and do not, whatever you do, give up your intention of pleading cases, or along with yours let all lips be dumb.
You say that you have composed something in Greek2 which pleases you more than almost anything you have written. Are you not he who gave me such a castigation for writing in Greek? However, I must now, more than ever, write in Greek. Do you ask why? I wish to make trial whether what I have not learnt may not more readily come to my aid, since what I have learnt leaves me in the lurch. But, an you really loved me, you would have sent me that new piece you are so pleased with. However, I read you here in spite of yourself and, indeed, that alone is my life and stay.
It is a sanguinary theme you have sent me. I have not yet read the extract from Coelius which you sent, nor shall I read it until I, on my part, have hunted up my wits. But my Caesar-speech3 grips me with its hooked talons. Now, if never before, I find what a task it is to round and shape4 three or five lines and to take time over writing. Farewell, breath of my life. Should I not burn with love of you, who have written to me as you have! What shall I do? I cannot cease. Last year it befell me in this very place,5 and at this very time, to be consumed with a passionate longing for my mother. This year you inflame that my longing. My Lady6 greets you.
Fronto to Marcus Aurelius as Caesar
? 139 A.D.