"That youth, my Titus, was my age's hope,-- I loved him more than language can express,-- I thought him born to dignify the world." The culprit kneels to him, and begs for clemency: "A word for pity's sake. Before thy feet, Humbled in soul, thy son and prisoner kneels. Love is my plea: a father is my judge; Nature my advocate!--I can no more: If these will not appease a parent's heart, Strike through them all, and lodge thy vengeance here!" Almost overpowered, Brutus hesitates a moment, rallies, straightens himself up, and exclaims, with lofty dignity,-- "Break off! I will not, cannot hear thee further! The affliction nature hath imposed on Brutus, Brutus will suffer as he may.--Enough! Lictors, secure your prisoner. Point your axes. To the Senate--On!" The last scene shows the Senate in the temple of Mars, Brutus in the Consular seat. He speaks, beginning with solemn air and tones of ringing firmness: "Romans the blood which hath been shed this day Hath been shed wisely. Traitors, who conspire Against mature societies, may urge Their acts as bold and daring; and though villains, Yet they are manly villains. But to stab The cradled innocent, as these have done,-- To strike their country in the mother-pangs Of struggling childbirth, and direct the dagger To freedom's infant throat,--is a deed so black That my foiled tongue refuses it a name." Here he pauses, falters a little, then slowly adds,-- "There is one criminal still left for judgment: Let him approach." Titus is led in by the lictors, with the edges of their axes turned towards him. He kneels. "Oh, Brutus! Brutus! must I call you father, Yet have no token of your tenderness? _Brutus._ Think that I love thee by my present passion, By these unmanly tears, these earthquakes here, Let these convince you that no other cause Could force a father thus to wrong his nature. Romans, forgive this agony of grief,-- My heart is bursting,--Nature must have way. I will perform all that a Roman should,-- I cannot feel less than a father ought!" The piteous look and choking accents with which he said to his son, "Think that I love thee by my present passion," were irresistible. They seemed to betoken that his heart was breaking. The sound of weeping was usually audible in the audience, and hundreds might be seen wiping the tears from their cheeks. Justice holds its course, and the Consul sentences the guilty citizen to the block: "_Brutus._ The sovereign magistrate of injured Rome Condemns A crime, thy father's bleeding heart forgives. Go,--meet thy death with a more manly courage Than grief now suffers me to show in parting; And, while she punishes, let Rome admire thee! Farewell! _Titus._ Farewell forever! _Brutus._ Forever! Lictors, lead your prisoner forth.