me which he seems first to have given to them in
jest, in remembrance of those which his favourite model Demosthenes
had delivered at Athens against Philip of Macedon. He defended his own
conduct, reviewed in strong but moderate terms the whole policy of Antony,
and warned him--still ostensibly as a friend--against the fate of Caesar.
The speaker was not unconscious what his own might possibly be.

"I have already, senators, reaped fruit enough from my return home, in
that I have had the opportunity to speak words which, whatever may betide,
will remain in evidence of my constancy in my duty, and you have listened
to me with much kindness and attention. And this privilege I will use so
often as I may without peril to you and to myself; when I cannot, I will
be careful of myself, not so much for my own sake as for the sake of my
country. For me, the life that I have lived seems already well-nigh long
enough, whether I look at my years or my honours; what little span may yet
be added to it should be your gain and the state's far more than my own".

Antony was not in the house when Cicero spoke; he had gone down to his
villa at Tibur. There he remained for a fortnight, brooding over his
reply--taking lessons, it was said, from professors in the art of
rhetorical self-defence. At last he came to Rome and answered his
opponent. His speech has not reached us; but we know that it contained the
old charges of having put Roman citizens to death without trial in the
case of the abettors of Catiline, and of having instigated Milo to the
assassination of Clodias. Antony added a new charge--that of complicity
with the murderers of Caesar. Above all, he laughed at Cicero's old
attempts as a poet; a mode of attack which, if not so alarming, was at
least as irritating as the rest. Cicero was not present--he dreaded
personal violence; for Antony, like Pompey at the trial of Milo, had
planted an armed guard of his own men outside and inside the Senate-house.
Before Cicero had nerved himself to reply, Antony had left Rome to put
himself at the head of his legions, and the two never met again.

The reply, when it came, was the terrible second Philippic; never spoken,
however, but only handed about in manuscript to admiring friends. There is
little doubt, as Mr. Long observes, that Antony had also some friend kind
enough to send him a copy; and if we may trust the Roman poet Juvenal, who
is at least as likely to have been well informed upon