1I have been worn down by the illnesses of my household, and deaths too, and those of young men. 1I have two consolations, by no means equal to so great a grief, but consolations nonetheless: one is my readiness to grant freedom — for I seem not to have lost wholly before their time those whom I lost when already free —, the other that I allow my slaves too to make what amount to wills, and I keep them as if they were legally valid. 2They instruct and request as seems good to them; 2I obey as if under orders. 2They divide their property, give it away, leave it, provided only it is within the household; 2for to slaves the household is a kind of commonwealth and, as it were, a state.
3But although I find rest in these consolations, I am weakened and broken by that same humanity which led me to allow this very thing. 3Yet I would not for that reason wish to become harder. 3Nor am I unaware that others call misfortunes of this kind nothing more than a loss, and think themselves great and wise men on that account. 3Whether they are great and wise, I do not know; 3men they are not. 4For it is the mark of a man to be affected by grief, to feel it, yet to resist and to admit consolation, not to have no need of consolation. 5But on this subject I have said perhaps more than I ought; 5but less than I wished.
5For there is a certain pleasure even in grieving, especially if you weep on the bosom of a friend, with whom either praise or pardon is ready for your tears. 5Farewell.