To the common loss, the service of a letter being dispatched, I pay also the offices ever owed to your Sublimity, to whom I am bound: urging—nay, since you have so hardened yourself, entreating—that at last you wear down with the scantier fasts of your own homeland those stomachs of yours, sickened by the delicacies of Saxony. But if you so little know how to repay the exchange of longing that your absence does not yet seem to you enough, then, compelled by the wrong, I make this wish, and avenge myself with the staff of this imprecation: that the turns of presence be reversed, and that what Vienne has in abundance, Chalon may obtain. So that, if here we have nothing worth being sought, there we may send what one may be glad to avoid. And since what I say is on the road, if you still tarry in place, receive it: