To Julian. (~361 AD)
If you did not already know from what length of time and through how many acts the friendship between us and our good Makedonios was formed and grew, I would first set that out for you. But since you know what brought it into being, it will no longer seem surprising that I think I must help with a letter—I who would not even flinch from danger on behalf of friends. What has persuaded me to ask the favor is not simply that you give readily, and give all things asked of you, but that this particular request is both fine and just, and you know how to grant such things. For the man who will not even give his friends what no reproach could touch is laying hands on the daughter of Zeus [Justice], who keeps the Graces at her own threshold. That you will oblige, since what is asked is not base, is plain to everyone. Consider whether what we need can possibly be anything shameful. Makedonios is marrying a woman who had a child by a previous marriage; the child has since died. We wish the child's mother to become heir in place of the child's maternal grandfather—provided the grandfather consents to act generously, waiving the legal claim and looking to his reputation instead. Your task, then, is to persuade the man that it is a greater gain not to take such property than to take it. You will be persuasive on two counts: your rhetorical skill and the authority of your office. I hear, moreover, that the old man loves praise and looks not so much to what he will gain as to what will be said of him. Do not hesitate, then—summon him, speak with him, and arrange an outcome more humane than the law requires. And do not expect to find any excuse with us—neither by claiming that words on behalf of such matters are beneath you, nor by taking refuge in an inability to persuade. There is nothing but honor in being the cause of money for the mother and of glory for her father; and every word from you masters its listener with full force.
If you did not already know from what length of time and through how many acts the friendship between us and our good Makedonios was formed and grew, I would first set that out for you. But since you know what brought it into being, it will no longer seem surprising that I think I must help with a letter—I who would not even flinch from danger on behalf of friends. What has persuaded me to ask the favor is not simply that you give readily, and give all things asked of you, but that this particular request is both fine and just, and you know how to grant such things. For the man who will not even give his friends what no reproach could touch is laying hands on the daughter of Zeus [Justice], who keeps the Graces at her own threshold. That you will oblige, since what is asked is not base, is plain to everyone. Consider whether what we need can possibly be anything shameful. Makedonios is marrying a woman who had a child by a previous marriage; the child has since died. We wish the child's mother to become heir in place of the child's maternal grandfather—provided the grandfather consents to act generously, waiving the legal claim and looking to his reputation instead. Your task, then, is to persuade the man that it is a greater gain not to take such property than to take it. You will be persuasive on two counts: your rhetorical skill and the authority of your office. I hear, moreover, that the old man loves praise and looks not so much to what he will gain as to what will be said of him. Do not hesitate, then—summon him, speak with him, and arrange an outcome more humane than the law requires. And do not expect to find any excuse with us—neither by claiming that words on behalf of such matters are beneath you, nor by taking refuge in an inability to persuade. There is nothing but honor in being the cause of money for the mother and of glory for her father; and every word from you masters its listener with full force.
Modern English rendering for readability. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek for scholarly use.