If there had been any sort of reticence on this point hitherto on the part of Cicero, he made up for it in this second speech.  Nothing can equal its bitter personality, except perhaps its rhetorical power.  He begins the attack by declaring that he will not tell all he knows—­“in order that, if we have to do battle again hereafter, I may come always fresh-armed to the attack; an advantage which the multiplicity of that man’s crimes and vices gives me in large measure”.  Then he proceeds: 

“Would you like us, then, to examine into your course of life from boyhood?  I conclude you would.  Do you remember that before you put on the robe of manhood, you were a bankrupt?  That was my father’s fault, you will say.  I grant it—­it is a defence that speaks volumes for your feelings as a son.  It was your own shamelessness, however, that made you take your seat in the stalls of honourable knights, whereas by law there is a fixed place for bankrupts, even when they have become so by fortune’s fault, and not their own.  You put on the robe which was to mark your manhood,—­on your person it became the flaunting gear of a harlot”.

It is not desirable to follow the orator through some of his accusations; when he had to lash a man whom he held to be a criminal, he did not much care where or how he struck.  He even breaks off himself—­after saying a good deal.

“There are some things, which even a decent enemy hesitates to speak of....  Mark, then, his subsequent course of life, which I will trace as rapidly as I can.  For though these things are better known to you than even to me, yet I ask you to hear me with attention—­as indeed you do; for it is right that in such cases men’s feelings should be roused not merely by the knowledge of the facts, but by calling them back to their remembrance; though we must dash at once, I believe, into the middle of his history, lest we should be too long in getting to the end”.

The peroration is noble and dignified, in the orator’s best style.  He still supposes himself addressing his enemy.  He has warned Antony that Caesar’s fate may be his:  and he is not unconscious of the peril in which his own life may stand.

“But do you look to yourself—­I will tell you how it stands with me.  I defended the Commonwealth when I was young—­I will not desert it now I am old.  I despised the swords of Catiline—­I am not likely to tremble before yours.  Nay, I shall lay my life down gladly, if the liberty of Rome can be secured by my death, so that this suffering nation may at last bring to the birth that which it his long been breeding.[1] If, twenty years ago, I declared in this house that death could never be said to have come before its time to a man who had been consul of Rome, with how much more truth, at my age, may I say it now!  To me indeed, gentlemen of the Senate, death may well be a thing to be even desired, when I have done what I have done and reaped the honours I have reaped.  Only two wishes I have,—­the one, that at my death I may leave the Roman people free—­the immortal gods can give me no greater boon than this; the other, that every citizen may meet with such reward as his conduct towards the state may have deserved”.