Letter Ad M. Caes. ii. 5

M. Caesar to the most honourable consul his master.

. . . .¹ Three days ago we heard Polemo declaim—that we may have some talk about men also. If you would like to know what I think of him, listen. He seems to me like a hard-working farmer endowed with the utmost shrewdness, who has laid out a large holding with corn-crops only and vines, wherein beyond question the yield is the fairest and the return the richest. But, indeed, nowhere in all that estate is there a fig tree of Pompeii,² or a vegetable of Aricia,³ or a rose of Tarentum, nowhere a pleasant coppice or a thick-set grove, or a shady plane-tree; all for profit rather than for pleasure, such as one would be bound to praise but not disposed to love. In judging a man of such reputation,⁴ am I, think you, bold enough in my purpose and rash enough in my judgment? But when I remember that I am writing to you, I feel that I am not bold enough for your taste. On that point I am desperately doubtful—there's a home-grown hendecasyllable for you! So I must call a halt with you before I fall into the poetic vein. Farewell, most missed of men and dearest to your Verus,⁵ most honourable consul, master most sweet. Farewell, my sweetest soul.