I, O judges, am thoroughly aware that I am under taking a cause which has now for eight years together been constantly discussed in a spirit opposed to the interests of my client, and which has been almost convicted and condemned by the silent opinion of men; but if any god will only incline your good-will to listen to me patiently, I will show you that there is nothing which a man has so much reason to dread as envy,—that when he has incurred envy, there is nothing so much to be desired by an innocent man as an impartial tribunal, because in this alone can any end and termination be found at last to undeserved disgrace. Wherefore, I am in very great hope, if I am able fully to unravel all the circumstances of this case, and to effect all that I wish by my speech, that this place, and this bench of judges before whom I am pleading, which the other side has expected to be most terrible and formidable to Aulus Cluentius, will be to him a harbour at last, and a refuge for the hitherto miserable and tempest-tossed bark of his fortunes.

Although there are many things which seem to me necessary to be mentioned respecting the common dangers to which all men are exposed by unpopularity, before I speak about the cause itself; still, that I may not keep your expectations too long in suspense by my speech, I will come to the charge itself, only begging you, O judges, as I am aware I must frequently do in the course of this trial, to listen to me, as if this cause were now being this day pleaded for the first time,—as, in fact, it is; and not as if it had already been often discussed and proved. For on this day opportunity is given us for the first time of effacing that old accusation; up to this time mistake and odium have had the principal influence in the whole cause. Wherefore, while I reply with brevity and clearness to the accusation of many years standing, I entreat you, O judges, to listen to me, as I know that you are predetermined to do, with kindness and attention.