The throng are so possessed with him that they propose to make him king in place of Tarquin; but the patriot, his unselfish soul breathing from his countenance and audible in his accent, convinces them of his personal purity: "No, fellow-citizens! If mad ambition in this guilty frame Had strung one kingly fibre,--yea, but one,-- By all the gods, this dagger which I hold Should rip it out, though it entwined my heart. Now take the body up. Bear it before us To Tarquin's palace; there we'll light our torches, And, in the blazing conflagration, rear A pile for these chaste relics, that shall send Her soul amongst the stars. On!" They sweep away to their victims, deliver the State, and seal an ample vengeance. The primary climax of the play has thus been reached. Brutus has emerged from his idiot concealment and vindicated himself as the successful champion of liberty and his country. He is next to appear in a second climax, of still greater intensity and height, by the personal sacrifice of himself as the martyr of duty. The first action has the superior national significance, but the second action has the superior human significance, and therefore properly succeeds. Titus, the only son of the liberator, corrupted by his love of power and pleasure, has, in a measure, joined the party of the Tarquins. He is therefore regarded by the victor patriots as a traitor to Rome. Brutus, torn between his parental affection and his public duty, is profoundly agitated, yet resolute. He spares the life of Tarquinia, the betrothed of Titus, at the same time warning him,-- "This I concede; but more if thou attemptest,-- By all the gods!--Nay, if thou dost not take Her image, though with smiling Cupids decked, And pluck it from thy heart, there to receive Rome and her glories in without a rival, Thou art no son of mine, thou art no Roman!" For the defective treatment of the theme of the love of Brutus for his son by the author the actor made the very best amends in his power by improving every opportunity to suggest the depth and fervor of the tie, in look and gesture and tone, in order to exalt the coming catastrophe. Seated calmly in the curule chair as Consul, robed with purple, the lictors with their uplifted axes before him, a messenger announces the seizure of a young man at the head of an insurgent band. Valerius whispers to Brutus,-- "Oh, my friend, horror invades my heart. I know thy soul, and pray the gods to put Thee to no trial beyond a mortal bearing." Mastering his agitation by a mighty effort, Brutus responds,-- "No, they will not,--they cannot." The unhappy Titus is brought in guarded. The father, all his convulsed soul visible in his countenance and motions, turns from him, rises, walks to his colleague, and says, with tremulous, sobbing voice,--