But what is the difference between a perjurer and a liar? He who is in the habit of
 lying, is in the habit of perjuring himself. The man whom I can induce to tell a lie, I
 shall easily be able to prevail on to take a false oath. For he who has once departed
 from truth, is easily led on, with no greater scruples to perjury than to a lie. For who
 is influenced by just a mention of the gods in the way of deprecating their anger, and
 not by the influence of conscience? Because the same punishment which is appointed by
 the immortal gods for a perjurer is appointed also for a liar. For the immortal gods are
 accustomed to be indignant and angry, not on account of the form of words in which an
 oath is contained, but on account of the treachery and malice by which a plot is laid to
 deceive any one. But I, on the contrary, argue in
 this way. The authority of Cluvius would be less if be were speaking on his oath, than
 it is now when he is not speaking on his oath. For then, perhaps, he might seem to bad
 men over eager in being a witness in a cause in which he had been judge. But now he must
 appear to all his enemies most upright and most wise, inasmuch as he only tells his
 intimate friends what he knows. Say now, if you can,
 if the business, if the cause permits you to, that Cluvius has spoken falsely. Has
 Cluvius spoken falsely? Truth itself lays its hand upon me, and compels me to stop, and
 dwell on this point for a short time. Whence was all this lie drawn, and where was it
 forged? Roscius, forsooth, is a deep and crafty man. He began to think of this from the
 first. Since, said he to himself, Fannius claims fifty thousand sesterces from me, I will ask Caius Cluvius, a Roman knight, a most
 accomplished man, to tell a lie for my sake; to say that a settlement was made which was
 not made; that a hundred thousand sesterces were given by
 Flavius to Fannius, which were not given. This is the first idea of a wicked mind, of a
 miserable disposition, of a man of no sense. What came next? After he had thoroughly made up his mind, he came to Cluvius. What
 sort of a man was he? an insignificant man? No, a most influential one. A fickle man? A
 most consistent one. An intimate friend of his? A perfect stranger. After he had saluted
 him, he began to ask him, in gentle and elegant language to be
 sure,—“Tell a lie for my sake, tell some excellent men, your own
 intimate friends who are here with you, that Flavius settled with Fannius about
 Panurgus, though in truth he did not; tell them that he paid a hundred thousand sesterces , though in reality he did not pay a penny.”
 What answer did he give? “Oh, indeed, I will willingly and eagerly tell lies
 for your sake; and if at any time you wish me to perjure myself in order to make a
 little profit, know that I am quite ready; you need not have taken so much trouble as to
 come to me yourself; you could have arranged such a trifle as this by a
 messenger.” Oh, the faith of gods and men! Would Roscius ever have asked this of Cluvius, even if
 he had had a hundred millions of sesterces at stake on the
 issue of the trial? Or would Cluvius have granted it to Roscius at his request, even if
 he had been to be a sharer in the whole booty? I scarcely, by the gods, think that you,
 O Fannius, would dare to make this request to Ballio, or to any one like him; and that
 you would be able to succeed in a matter not only false, but in its nature incredible.
 For I say nothing about Roscius and Cluvius being excellent men. I imagine them for this
 occasion to be worthless.