图书 · Meditations
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作者: Marcus Aurelius
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[14]O my dear Fronto, most distinguished Consul! I yield, you
have conquered: all who have ever loved before, you have
conquered out and out in love's contest. Receive the victor's
wreath; and the herald shall proclaim your victory aloud before
your own tribunal: "M. Cornelius Fronto, Consul, wins, and is
crowned victor in the Open International Love-race."[15] But
beaten though I may be, I shall neither slacken nor relax my own
zeal. Well, you shall love me more than any man loves any other
man; but I, who possess a faculty of loving less strong, shall
love you more than any one else loves you; more indeed than you
love yourself. Gratia and I will have to fight for it; I doubt I
shall not get the better of her. For, as Plautus says, her love
is like rain, whose big drops not only penetrate the dress, but
drench to the very marrow.'
[12] Ad M. Caes., iii. 19.
[13] The writer sometimes uses archaisms such as quom, which I
render 'whenas'.
[14] Ad M. Caes., ii. 2.
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