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Well, but they who falsely call themselves Roman citizens, are severely punished; and should those, who falsely claim so great and reverend a thing and name, get off unpunished? or is this not possible, but the law divine and strong and inevitable is this, which exacts the severest punishments from those who commit the greatest crimes? For what does this law say?

"Let him who pretends to things which do not belong to him be a boaster, a vainglorious man: let him who disobeys the divine administration be base, and a slave; let him suffer grief, let him be envious, let him pity; and in a word let him be unhappy and lament." "Well then; do you wish me to pay court to a certain person? to go to his doors?"

If reason requires this to be done for the sake of country, for the sake of kinsmen, for the sake of mankind, why should you not go? You are not ashamed to go to the doors of a shoemaker, when you are in want of shoes, nor to the door of a gardener, when you want lettuces; and are you ashamed to go to the doors of the rich when you want anything? "Yes, for I have no awe of a shoemaker."

Don't feel any awe of the rich. "Nor will I flatter the gardener." And do not flatter the rich.

"How, then, shall I get what I want?" Do I say to you, "Go as if you were certain to get what you want"? And do not I only tell you that you may do what is becoming to yourself?

"Why, then, should I still go?" That you may have gone, that you may have discharged the duty of a citizen, of a brother, of a friend. And further remember that you have gone to the shoemaker, to the seller of vegetables, who have no power in anything great or noble, though he may sell dear.

You go to buy lettuces: they cost an obolus, but not a talent. So it is here also. The matter is worth going for to the rich man's door.

Well, I will go. It is worth talking about. Let it be so; I will talk with him.

But you must also kiss his hand and flatter him with praise. Away with that, it is a talent's worth: it is not profitable to me, nor to the state nor to my friends, to have done that which spoils a good citizen and a friend. "But you seem not to have been eager about the matter, if you do not succeed."

Have you again forgotten why you went? Know you not that a good man does nothing for the sake of appearance, but for the sake of doing right? "What advantage is it, then, to him to have done right?"

And what advantage is it to a man who writes the name of Dion to write it as he ought? The advantage is to have written it. "Is there no reward then?"

Do you seek a reward for a good man greater than doing what is good and just? At Olympia you wish for nothing more, but it seems to you enough to be crowned at the games. Does it seem to you so small and worthless a thing to be good and happy?

For these purposes being introduced by the gods into this city, and it being now your duty to undertake the work of a man, do you still want nurses also and a mamma, and do foolish women by their weeping move you and make you effeminate? Will you thus never cease to be a foolish child? know you not that he who does the acts of a child, the older he is, the more ridiculous he is?

In Athens did you see no one by going to his house? "I visited any man that I pleased." Here also be ready to see, and you will see whom you please: only let it be without meanness, neither with desire nor with aversion, and your affairs will be well managed.

But this result does not depend on going nor on standing at the doors, but it depends on what is within, on your opinions. When you have learned not to value things which are external, and not dependent on the will, and to consider that not one of them is your own, but that these things only are your own, to exercise the judgment well, to form opinions, to move toward an object, to desire, to turn from a thing, where is there any longer room for flattery, where for meanness? why do you still long for the quiet there, and for the places to which you are accustomed?

Wait a little and you will again find these places familiar: then, if you are of so ignoble a nature, again if you leave these also, weep and lament. "How then shall I become of an affectionate temper?" By being of a noble disposition, and happy.

For it is not reasonable to be means-spirited nor to lament yourself, nor to depend on another, nor even to blame God or man. I entreat you, become an affectionate person in this way, by observing these rules. But if through this affection, as you name it, you are going to be a slave and wretched, there is no profit in being affectionate.

And what prevents you from loving another as a person subject to mortality, as one who may go away from you. Did not Socrates love his own children? He did; but it was as a free man, as one who remembered that he must first be a friend to the gods.

For this reason he violated nothing which was becoming to a good man, neither in making his defense nor by fixing a penalty on himself, nor even in the former part of his life when he was a senator or when be was a soldier. But we are fully supplied with every pretext for being of ignoble temper, some for the sake of a child, some for a mother, and others for brethren's sake. But it is not fit for us to be unhappy on account of any person, but to be happy on account of all, but chiefly on account of God who has made us for this end.

Well, did Diogenes love nobody, who was so kind and so much a lover of all that for mankind in general he willingly undertook so much labour and bodily sufferings? He did love mankind, but how? As became a minister of God, at the same time caring for men, and being also subject to God.

For this reason all the earth was his country, and no particular place; and when he was taken prisoner he did not regret Athens nor his associates and friends there, but even he became familiar with the pirates and tried to improve them; and being sold afterward he lived in Corinth as before at Athens; and he would have behaved the same, if he had gone to the country of the Perrhaebi. Thus is freedom acquired. For this reason he used to say, "Ever since Antisthenes made me free, I have not been a slave."

How did Antisthenes make him free? Hear what he says: "Antisthenes taught me what is my own, and what is not my own; possessions are not my own, nor kinsmen, domestics, friends, nor reputation, nor places familiar, nor mode of life; all these belong to others." What then is your own?

"The use of appearances. This be showed to me, that I possess it free from hindrance, and from compulsion, no person can put an obstacle in my way, no person can force me to use appearances otherwise than I wish." Who then has any power over me?

Philip or Alexander, or Perdiccas or the Great King? How have they this power? For if a man is going to be overpowered by a man, he must long before be overpowered by things.

If, then, pleasure is not able to subdue a man, nor pain, nor fame, nor wealth, but he is able, when he chooses, to spit out all his poor body in a man's face and depart from life, whose slave can he still be? But if he dwelt with pleasure in Athens, and was overpowered by this manner of life, his affairs would have been at every man's command; the stronger would have had the power of grieving him. How do you think that Diogenes would have flattered the pirates that they might sell him to some Athenian, that some time he might see that beautiful Piraeus, and the Long Walls and the Acropolis?

In what condition would you see them? As a captive, a slave and mean: and what would be the use of it for you? "Not so: but I should see them as a free man."

Show me, how you would be free. Observe, some person has caught you, who leads you away from your accustomed place of abode and says, "You are my slave, for it is in my power to hinder you from living as you please, it is in my power to treat you gently, and to humble you: when I choose, on the contrary you are cheerful and go elated to Athens." What do you say to him who treats you as a slave?

What means have you of finding one who will rescue you from slavery? Or cannot you even look him in the face, but without saying more do you entreat to be set free? Man, you ought to go gladly to prison, hastening, going before those who lead you there.

Then, I ask you, are you unwilling to live in Rome and desire to live in Hellas? And when you must die, will you then also fill us with your lamentations, because you will not see Athens nor walk about in the Lyceion? Have you gone abroad for this?

was it for this reason you have sought to find some person from whom you might receive benefit? What benefit? That you may solve syllogisms more readily, or handle hypothetical arguments?

and for this reason did you leave brother, country, friends, your family, that you might return when you had learned these things? So you did not go abroad to obtain constancy of mind, nor freedom from perturbation, nor in order that, being secure from harm, you may never complain of any person, accuse no person, and no man may wrong you, and thus you may maintain your relative position without impediment? This is a fine traffic that you have gone abroad for in syllogisms and sophistical arguments and hypothetical: if you like, take your place in the agora and proclaim them for sale like dealers in physic.

Will you not deny even all that you have learned that you may not bring a bad name on your theorems as useless? What harm has philosophy done you? Wherein has Chrysippus injured you that you should prove by your acts that his labours are useless?

Were the evils that you had there not enough, those which were the cause of your pain and lamentation, even if you had not gone abroad? Have you added more to the list? And if you again have other acquaintances and friends, you will have more causes for lamentation; and the same also if you take an affection for another country.

Why, then, do you live to surround yourself with other sorrows upon sorrows through which you are unhappy? Then, I ask you, do you call this affection? What affection, man!

If it is a good thing, it is the cause of no evil: if it is bad, I have nothing to do with it. I am formed by nature for my own good: I am not formed for my own evil. What then is the discipline for this purpose?

First of all the highest and the principal, and that which stands as it were at the entrance, is this; when you are delighted with anything, be delighted as with a thing which is not one of those which cannot be taken away, but as with something of such a kind, as an earthen pot is, or a glass cup, that, when it has been broken, you may remember what it was and may not be troubled. So in this matter also: if you kiss your own child, or your brother or friend, never give full license to the appearance, and allow not your pleasure to go as far as it chooses; but check it, and curb it as those who stand behind men in their triumphs and remind them that they are mortal. Do you also remind yourself in like manner, that he whom you love is mortal, and that what you love is nothing of your own: it has been given to you for the present, not that it should not be taken from you, nor has it been given to you for all time, but as a fig is given to you or a bunch of grapes at the appointed season of the year.

But if you wish for these things in winter, you are a fool. So if you wish for your son or friend when it is not allowed to you, you must know that you are wishing for a fig in winter. For such as winter is to a fig, such is every event which happens from the universe to the things which are taken away according to its nature.

And further, at the times when you are delighted with a thing, place before yourself the contrary appearances. What harm is it while you are kissing your child to say with a lisping voice, "To-morrow you will die"; and to a friend also, "To-morrow you will go away or I shall, and never shall we see one another again"? "But these are words of bad omen."

And some incantations also are of bad omen; but because they are useful, I don't care for this; only let them be useful. "But do you call things to be of bad omen except those which are significant of some evil?" Cowardice is a word of bad omen, and meanness of spirit, and sorrow, and grief and shamelessness.

These words are of bad omen: and yet we ought not to hesitate to utter them in order to protect ourselves against the things. Do you tell me that a name which is significant of any natural thing is of evil omen? say that even for the ears of corn to be reaped is of bad omen, for it signifies the destruction of the ears, but not of the world.

Say that the falling of the leaves also is of bad omen, and for the dried fig to take the place of the green fig, and for raisins to be made from the grapes. For all these things are changes from a former state into other states; not a destruction, but a certain fixed economy and administration. Such is going away from home and a small change: such is death, a greater change, not from the state which now is to that which is not, but to that which is not now.

"Shall I then no longer exist?" You will not exist, but you be something else, of which the world now has need: for you also came into existence not when you chose, but when the world had need of you. Wherefore the wise and good man, remembering who he is and whence he came, and by whom he was produced, is attentive only to this, how he may fill his place with due regularity and obediently to God.

"Dost Thou still wish me to exist? I will continue to exist as free, as noble in nature, as Thou hast wished me to exist: for Thou hast made me free from hindrance in that which is my own. But hast Thou no further need of me?

I thank Thee; and so far I have remained for Thy sake, and for the sake of no other person, and now in obedience to Thee I depart." "How dost thou depart?" Again, I say, as Thou hast pleased, as free, as Thy servant, as one who has known Thy commands and Thy prohibitions.

And so long as I shall stay in Thy service, whom dost Thou will me to be? A prince or a private man, a senator or a common person, a soldier or a general, a teacher or a master of a family? whatever place and position Thou mayest assign to me, as Socrates says, "I will die ten thousand times rather than desert them."

And where dost Thou will me to be? in Rome or Athens, or Thebes or Gyara. Only remember me there where I am.

If Thou sendest me to a place where there are no means for men living according to nature, I shall not depart in disobedience to Thee, but as if Thou wast giving me the signal to retreat: I do not leave Thee, let this be to from my intention, but perceive that Thou hast no need of me. If means of living according to nature be allowed me, I will seek no other place than that in which I am, or other men than those among whom I am. Let these thoughts be ready to hand by night and by day: these you should write, these you should read: about these you should talk to yourself, and to others.

Ask a man, "Can you help me at all for this purpose?" and further, go to another and to another. Then if anything that is said he contrary to your wish, this reflection first will immediately relieve you, that it is not unexpected.

For it is a great thing in all cases to say, "I knew that I begot a son who is mortal." For so you also will say, "I knew that I am mortal, I knew that I may leave my home, I knew that I may be ejected from it, I knew that I may be led to prison." Then if you turn round, and look to yourself, and seek the place from which comes that which has happened, you will forthwith recollect that it comes from the place of things which are out of the power of the will, and of things which are not my own.

"What then is it to me?" Then, you will ask, and this is the chief thing: "And who is it that sent it?" The leader, or the general, the state, the law of the state.

Give it me then, for I must always obey the law in everything. Then, when the appearance pains you, for it is not in your power to prevent this, contend against it by the aid of reason, conquer it: do not allow it to gain strength nor to lead you to the consequences by raising images such as it pleases and as it pleases. If you be in Gyara, do not imagine the mode of living at Rome, and how many pleasures there were for him who lived there and how many there would be for him who returned to Rome: but fix your mind on this matter, how a man who lives in Gyara ought to live in Gyara like a man of courage.

And if you be in Rome, do not imagine what the life in Athens is, but think only of the life in Rome. Then in the place of all other delights substitute this, that of being conscious that you are obeying God, that, not in word but in deed, you are performing the acts of a wise and good man. For what a thing it is for a man to be able to say to himself, "Now, whatever the rest may say in solemn manner in the schools and may be judged to be saying in a way contrary to common opinion, this I am doing; and they are sitting and are discoursing of my virtues and inquiring about me and praising me; and of this Zeus has willed that I shall receive from myself a demonstration, and shall myself know if He has a soldier such as He ought to have, a citizen such as He ought to have, and if He has chosen to produce me to the rest of mankind as a witness of the things which are independent of the will: 'See that you fear without reason, that you foolishly desire what you do desire: seek not the good in things external; seek it in yourselves: if you do not, you will not find it.'

For this purpose He leads me at one time hither, at another time sends me thither, shows me to men as poor, without authority, and sick; sends me to Gyara, leads me into prison, not because He hates me, far from him be such a meaning, for who hates the best of his servants? nor yet because He cares not for me, for He does not neglect any even of the smallest things;' but He does this for the purpose of exercising me and making use of me as a witness to others. Being appointed to such a service, do I still care about the place in which I am, or with whom I am, or what men say about me?

and do I not entirely direct my thoughts to God and to His instructions and commands?" Having these things always in hand, and exercising them by yourself, and keeping them in readiness, you will never be in want of one to comfort you and strengthen you. For it is not shameful to be without something to eat, but not to have reason sufficient for keeping away fear and sorrow.

But if once you have gained exemption from sorrow and fear, will there any longer be a tyrant for you, or a tyrant's guard, or attendants on Caesar? Or shall any appointment to offices at court cause you pain, or shall those who sacrifice in the Capitol, on the occasion of being named to certain functions, cause pain to you who have received so great authority from Zeus? Only do not make a proud display of it, nor boast of it; but show it by your acts; and if no man perceives it, be satisfied that you are yourself in a healthy state and happy.

To those who fall off from their purpose Consider as to the things which you proposed to yourself at first, which you have secured and which you have not; and how you are pleased when you recall to memory the one and are pained about the other; and if it is possible, recover the things wherein you failed. For we must not shrink when we are engaged in the greatest combat, but we must even take blows. For the combat before us is not in wrestling and the Pancration, in which both the successful and the unsuccessful may have the greatest merit, or may have little, and in truth may be very fortunate or very unfortunate; but the combat is for good fortune and happiness themselves.

Well then, even if we have renounced the contest in this matter, no man hinders us from renewing the combat again, and we are not compelled to wait for another four years that the games at Olympia may come again; but as soon as you have recovered and restored yourself, and employ the same zeal, you may renew the combat again; and if again you renounce it, you may again renew it; and if you once gain the victory, you are like him who has never renounced the combat. Only do not, through a habit of doing the same thing, begin to do it with pleasure, and then like a bad athlete go about after being conquered in all the circuit of the games like quails who have run away. "The sight of a beautiful young girl overpowers me.

Well, have I not been overpowered before? An inclination arises in me to find fault with a person; for have I not found fault with him before?" You speak to us as if you had come off free from harm, just as if a man should say to his physician who forbids him to bathe, "Have I not bathed before?"

If, then, the physician can say to him, "Well, and what, then, happened to you after the bath? Had you not a fever, had you not a headache?" And when you found fault with a person lately, did you not do the act of a malignant person, of a trifling babbler; did you not cherish this habit in you by adding to it the corresponding acts?

And when you were overpowered by the young girl, did you come off unharmed? Why, then, do you talk of what you did before? You ought, I think, remembering what you did, as slaves remember the blows which they have received, to abstain from the same faults.

But the one case is not like the other; for in the case of slaves the pain causes the remembrance: but in the case of your faults, what is the pain, what is the punishment; for when have you been accustomed to fly from evil acts? Sufferings, then, of the trying character are useful to us, whether we choose or not. To those who fear want Are you not ashamed at more cowardly and more mean than fugitive slaves?

How do they when they run away leave their masters? on what estates do they depend, and what domestics do they rely on? Do they not, after stealing a little which is enough for the first days, then afterward move on through land or through sea, contriving one method after another for maintaining their lives?

And what fugitive slave ever died of hunger? But you are afraid lest necessary things should fall you, and are sleepless by night. Wretch, are you so blind, and don't you see the road to which the want of necessaries leads?

"Well, where does it lead?" To the same place to which a fever leads, or a stone that falls on you, to death. Have you not often said this yourself to your companions?

have you not read much of this kind, and written much? and how often have you boasted that you were easy as to death? "Yes: but my wife and children also suffer hunger."

Well then, does their hunger lead to any other place? Is there not the same descent to some place for them also? Is not there the same state below for them?

Do you not choose, then, to look to that place full of boldness against every want and deficiency, to that place to which both the richest and those who have held the highest offices, and kings themselves and tyrants must descend? or to which you will descend hungry, if it should so happen, but they burst by indigestion and drunkenness. What beggar did you hardly ever see who was not an old man, and even of extreme old age?

But chilled with cold day and night, and lying on the ground, and eating only what is absolutely necessary they approach near to the impossibility of dying. Cannot you write? Cannot you teach children?

Cannot you be a watchman at another person's door? "But it is shameful to come to such necessity." Learn, then, first what are the things which are shameful, and then tell us that you are a philosopher: but at present do not, even if any other man call you so, allow it.

Is that shameful to you which is not your own act, that of which you are not the cause, that which has come to you by accident, as a headache, as a fever? If your parents were poor, and left their property to others, and if while they live, they do not help you at all, is this shameful to you? Is this what you learned with the philosophers?

Did you never hear that the thing which is shameful ought to be blamed, and that which is blamable is worthy of blame? Whom do you blame for an act which is not his own, which he did not do himself? Did you, then, make your father such as he is, or is it in your power to improve him?

Is this power given to you? Well then, ought you to wish the things which are not given to you, or to be ashamed if you do not obtain them? And have you also been accustomed while you were studying philosophy to look to others and to hope for nothing from yourself?

Lament then and groan and eat with fear that you may not have food to-morrow. Tremble about your poor slaves lest they steal, lest they run away, lest they die. So live, and continue to live, you who in name only have approached philosophy and have disgraced its theorems as far as you can by showing them to be useless and unprofitable to those who take them up; you who have never sought constancy, freedom from perturbation, and from passions: you who have not sought any person for the sake of this object, but many for the sake of syllogisms; you who have never thoroughly examined any of these appearances by yourself, "Am I able to bear, or am I not able to bear?

What remains for me to do?" But as if all your affairs were well and secure, you have been resting on the third topic, that of things being unchanged, in order that you may possess unchanged- what? cowardice, mean spirit, the admiration of the rich, desire without attaining any end, and avoidance which fails in the attempt?

About security in these things you have been anxious. Ought you not to have gained something in addition from reason and, then, to have protected this with security? And whom did you ever see building a battlement all round and not encircling it with a wall?

And what doorkeeper is placed with no door to watch? But you practice in order to be able to prove- what? You practice that you may not be tossed as on the sea through sophisms, and tossed about from what?

Show me first what you hold, what you measure, or what you weigh; and show me the scales or the medimnus; or how long will you go on measuring the dust? Ought you not to demonstrate those things which make men happy, which make things go on for them in the way as they wish, and why we ought to blame no man, accuse no man, and acquiesce in the administration of the universe? Show me these.

"See, I show them: I will resolve syllogisms for you." This is the measure, slave; but it is not the thing measured. Therefore you are now paying the penalty for what you neglected, philosophy: you tremble, you lie awake, you advise with all persons; and if your deliberations are not likely to please all, you think that you have deliberated ill. Then you fear hunger, as you suppose: but it is not hunger that you fear, but you are afraid that you will not have a cook, that you will not have another to purchase provisions for the table, a third to take off your shoes, a fourth to dress you, others to rub you, and to follow you, in order that in the bath, when you have taken off your clothes and stretched yourself out like those who are crucified you may be rubied on this side and on that, and then the aliptes may say, "Change his position, present the side, take hold of his head, show the shoulder"; and then when you have left the bath and gone home, you may call out, "Does no one bring something to eat?"

And then, "Take away the tables, sponge them": you are afraid of this, that you may not be able to lead the life of a sick man. But learn the life of those who are in health, how slaves live, how labourers, how those live who are genuine philosophers; how Socrates lived, who had a wife and children; how Diogenes lived, and how Cleanthes, who attended to the school and drew water. If you choose to have these things, you will have them everywhere, and you will live in full confidence.

Confiding in what? In that alone in which a man can confide, in that which is secure, in that which is not subject to hindrance, in that which cannot be taken away, that is, in your own will. And why have you made yourself so useless and good for nothing that no man will choose to receive you into his house, no man to take care of you?

but if a utensil entire and useful were cast abroad, every man who found it would take it up and think it a gain; but no man will take you up, and every man will consider you a loss. So cannot you discharge the office of a dog, or of a cock? Why then do you choose to live any longer, when you are what you are?

Does any good man fear that he shall fall to have food? To the blind it does not fall, to the lame it does not: shall it fall to a good man? And to a good soldier there does not fail to one who gives him pay, nor to a labourer, nor to a shoemaker: and to the good man shall there be wanting such a person?

Does God thus neglect the things that He has established, His ministers, His witnesses, whom alone He employs as examples to the uninstructed, both that He exists, and administers well the whole, and does not neglect human affairs, and that to a good man there is no evil either when he is living or when he is dead? What, then, when He does not supply him with food? What else does He do than like a good general He has given me the signal to retreat?

I obey, I follow, assenting to the words of the Commander, praising, His acts: for I came when it pleased Him, and I will also go away when it pleases Him; and while I lived, it was my duty to praise God both by myself, and to each person severally and to many. He does not supply me with many things, nor with abundance, He does not will me to live luxuriously; for neither did He supply Hercules who was his own son; but another was king of Argos and Mycenae, and Hercules obeyed orders, and laboured, and was exercised. And Eurystheus was what he was, neither kin, of Argos nor of Mycenae, for he was not even king of himself; but Hercules was ruler and leader of the whole earth and sea, who purged away lawlessness, and introduced justice and holiness; and he did these things both naked and alone.

And when Ulysses was cast out shipwrecked, did want humiliate him, did it break his spirit? but how did he go off to the virgins to ask for necessaries, to beg which is considered most shameful? As a lion bred in the mountains trusting in his strength.

Relying on what? Not on reputation nor on wealth nor on the power of a magistrate, but on his own strength, that is, on his opinions about the things which are in our power and those which, are not. For these are the only things which make men free, which make them escape from hindrance, which raise the head of those who are depressed, which make them look with steady eyes on the rich and on tyrants.

And this was the gift given to the philosopher. But you will not come forth bold, but trembling about your trifling garments and silver vessels. Unhappy man, have you thus wasted your time till now?

"What, then, if I shall be sick?" You will be sick in such a way as you ought to be. "Who will take care of me?"

God; your friends. "I shall lie down on a hard bed." But you will lie down like a man.

"I shall not have a convenient chamber." You will be sick in an inconvenient chamber. "Who will provide for me the necessary food?"

Those who provide for others also. You will be sick like Manes. "And what, also, will be the end of the sickness?

Any other than death?" Do you then consider that this the chief of all evils to man and the chief mark of mean spirit and of cowardice is not death, but rather the fear of death? Against this fear then I advise you to exercise yourself: to this let all your reasoning tend, your exercises, and reading; and you will know that thus only are men made free.

---------------------------------------------------------------------- About freedom He is free who lives as he wishes to live; who is neither subject to compulsion nor to hindrance, nor to force; whose movements to action are not impeded, whose desires attain their purpose, and who does not fall into that which he would avoid. Who, then, chooses to live in error? No man.

Who chooses to live deceived, liable to mistake, unjust, unrestrained, discontented, mean? No man. Not one then of the bad lives as he wishes; nor is he, then, free.

And who chooses to live in sorrow, fear, envy, pity, desiring and failing in his desires, attempting to avoid something and falling into it? Not one. Do we then find any of the bad free from sorrow, free from fear, who does not fall into that which he would avoid, and does not obtain that which he wishes?

Not one; nor then do we find any bad man free. If, then, a man who has been twice consul should hear this, if you add, "But you are a wise man; this is nothing to you": he will pardon you. But if you tell him the truth, and say, "You differ not at all from those who have been thrice sold as to being yourself not a slave," what else ought you to expect than blows?

For he says, "What, I a slave, I whose father was free, whose mother was free, I whom no man can purchase: I am also of senatorial rank, and a friend of Caesar, and I have been a consul, and I own many slaves." In the first place, most excellent senatorial man, perhaps your father also was a slave in the same kind of servitude, and your mother, and your grandfather and all your ancestors in an ascending series. But even if they were as free as it is possible, what is this to you?

What if they were of a noble nature, and you of a mean nature; if they were fearless, and you a coward; if they had the power of self-restraint, and you are not able to exercise it. "And what," you may say, "has this to do with being a slave?" Does it seem to you to be nothing to do a thing unwillingly, with compulsion, with groans, has this nothing to do with being a slave?

"It is something," you say: "but who is able to compel me, except the lord of all, Caesar?" Then even you yourself have admitted that you have one master. But that he is the common master of all, as you say, let not this console you at all: but know that you are a slave in a great family.

So also the people of Nicopolis are used to exclaim, "By the fortune of Caesar, are free." However, if you please, let us not speak of Caesar at present. But tell me this: did you never love any person, a young girl, or slave, or free?