Ne'er shall my limbs know rest till they are swept
From off the earth which groans beneath their infamy!
Valerius, Collatine, Lucretius, all,
Be partners in my oath."
The above apostrophe to the dagger was marvellously delivered. As he held it up with utmost stretch of arm and addressed it, it seemed to become a living thing, an avenging divinity.
The next scene was given with a contrast that came like enchantment. A multitude of relatives and friends are celebrating the obsequies of Lucretia. Brutus, with solemn and gentle mien, and a delivery of funereal gloom in which admiring love and pride gild the sorrow, pronounces her eulogy. He paints her with a bright and sweet fondness, and bewails her fate with a closing cadence indescribably plaintive.
"Such perfections
Might have called back the torpid breast of age
To long-forgotten rapture: such a mind
Might have abashed the boldest libertine,