To the short warrior-cut, vault on thy steed,
Then, scouring through the city, call to arms,
And shout for liberty!
Titus. [Starts.] Defend me, gods!
Brutus. Ha! does it stagger thee?"
The simulation had been dropped so gradually, the unconsciously waxing earnestness of purpose and self-betrayal were carried up over such invisible and exquisite steps, that, when the electric climax was touched, he who confronted Brutus on the stage did not affect to be more startled than those who gazed on him from before it really were.
Finding his son is in love with the sister of Sextus, and in no ripe mood for dangerous enterprise, he turns sorrowfully from him, murmuring,—
"Said I for liberty? I said it not.
My brain is weak, and wanders. You abuse it."
When left alone, he soliloquizes, beginning with sorrow, and passing in the succeeding parts from sadness to repulsion, then to anxiety, afterwards to hope, and ending with an air of proud joy.