LXII.  But this kind of oratory is neither to be wholly appropriated to forensic causes, nor is it entirely to be repudiated.  For if you constantly employ it, when it has produced weariness then even unskilful people can recognise its character.  Besides, it takes away the indignation which is intended to be excited by the pleading; it takes away the manly sensibility of the pleader; it wholly puts an end to all truth and good faith.  But since it ought to be employed at times, first of all, we should see in what place; secondly, how long it is to be maintained; and lastly, in how many ways it may be varied.  We must, then, employ a rhythmical oratory, if we have occasion either to praise anything in an ornate style,—­as we ourselves spoke in the second book of our impeachment of Verres concerning the praise of Sicily; and in the senate, of my own consulship; or a narration must be delivered which requires more dignity than indignation,—­as in the fourth book of that same impeachment we spoke concerning the Ceres of Enna, the Diana of Segeste, and the situation of Syracuse.  Often also when employed in amplifying a case, an oration is poured forth harmoniously and volubly with the approbation of all men.  That perhaps we have never quite accomplished; but we have certainly very often attempted it; as our perorations in many places show that we have, and indeed that we have been very eager to effect it.  But this is most effective when the hearer is already blockaded, as it were, and taken prisoner by the speaker.  For he then no longer thinks of watching and guarding against the orator, but he is already on his side; and wishes him to proceed, admitting the force of his eloquence, and never thinking of looking for anything with which to find fault.

But this style is not to be maintained long; I do not mean in the peroration which it concludes, but in the other divisions of the speech.  For when the orator has employed those topics which I have shown to be admissible, then the whole of his efforts must be transferred to what the Greeks call, I know not why, [Greek:  kommata] and [Greek:  kola], and which we may translate, though not very correctly, “incisa” and “membra.”  For there cannot be well-known names given to things which are not known; but when we use words in a metaphorical sense, either for the sake of sweetness or because of the poverty of the language, this result takes place in every art, that when we have got to speak of that which, on account of our ignorance of its existence, had no name at all previously, necessity compels us either to coin a new word, or to borrow a name from something resembling it.