1Because I foresee that your arrival will be rather late, I present the book that I had promised in my earlier letters. 1I ask you, as is your custom, both to read and to correct it, all the more because I seem never before to have written with quite the same zeal. 2For I have tried to imitate Demosthenes, always your favourite, and Calvus, lately mine, at least in the figures of speech; 2for the force of such great men only 'the few whom just …' 2can attain. 3Nor did the material itself resist this rivalry (I fear I may speak immodestly): for it lay almost entirely in the cut and thrust of speaking, which roused me as I slumbered in long idleness, if only I am the sort of man who can be roused.
4Yet I have not altogether shunned the colourful touches of our Marcus, whenever I was prompted by not unseasonable charms to step a little aside from the road: for I wanted to be vigorous, not grim. 5There is no reason for you to think that I am asking for indulgence by this exception. 5For to make you ply your file the harder, I shall confess that both I myself and my companions are not averse to publication, if only you perhaps cast a white pebble in favour of our mistake. 6For something must certainly be published — and if only it might be this above all, which is ready! 6You hear the prayer of idleness — but published it must be, for several reasons, chiefly because the little books I have already sent out are said to be in people's hands, although they have now lost the charm of novelty; 6unless, that is, the booksellers are flattering my ears.
6But let them flatter by all means, provided that by this lie they make my studies dear to me. 6Farewell.