I have sometimes thought, that if I had lived at Rome in the time of the first Triumvirate, I should have been tempted to write a letter, as from an unknown hand, to those three great men, who had then usurped the sovereign power; wherein I would freely and sincerely tell each of them that fault which I conceived was most odious, and of most consequence to the commonwealth:  That, to Crassus, should have been sent to him after his conquests in Mesopotamia, and in the following terms.[6]

“To Marcus Crassus, health.

“If you apply as you ought, what I now write,[7] you will be more obliged to me than to all the world, hardly excepting your parents or your country.  I intend to tell you, without disguise or prejudice, the opinion which the world has entertained of you:  and to let you see I write this without any sort of ill will, you shall first hear the sentiments they have to your advantage.  No man disputes the gracefulness of your person; you are allowed to have a good and clear understanding, cultivated by the knowledge of men and manners, though not by literature.  You are no ill orator in the Senate; you are said to excel in the art of bridling and subduing your anger, and stifling or concealing your resentments.  You have been a most successful general, of long experience, great conduct, and much personal courage.  You have gained many important victories for the commonwealth, and forced the strongest towns in Mesopotamia to surrender, for which frequent supplications have been decreed by the Senate.  Yet with all these qualities, and this merit, give me leave to say, you are neither beloved by the patricians, or plebeians at home, nor by the officers or private soldiers of your own army abroad:  And, do you know, Crassus, that this is owing to a fault, of which you may cure yourself, by one minutes reflection?  What shall I say?  You are the richest person in the commonwealth; you have no male child, your daughters are all married to wealthy patricians; you are far in the decline of life; and yet you are deeply stained with that odious and ignoble vice of covetousness:[8] It is affirmed, that you descend even to the meanest and most scandalous degrees of it; and while you possess so many millions, while you are daily acquiring so many more, you are solicitous how to save a single sesterce, of which a hundred ignominious instances are produced, and in all men’s mouths.  I will only mention that passage of the buskins,[9] which after abundance of persuasion, you would hardly suffer to be cut from your legs, when they were so wet and cold, that to have kept them on, would have endangered your life.