The chief of those men was Publius Lentulus, the parent and god of my life, and fortune, and memory, and name. He thought that the best proof that he could give of his virtue, the best indication that he could afford of his disposition, the greatest ornament with which he could embellish his consulship would be the restoration of me to myself, to my friends, to you, and to the republic. And as soon as ever he was appointed consul elect he never hesitated to express an opinion concerning my safety worthy both of himself and of the republic. When the veto was interposed by the tribune of the people,—when that admirable clause was read: “That no one should make any motion before you that no one should propose any decree to you that no one should raise any discussion, or make any speech or take any vote or frame any law;” he thought all that as I have said before, a proscription and not a law, by which a citizen who had deserved well of the republic was by name and without any trial, taken from the senate and the republic at the same time. But as soon as he entered on his office, I will not say what did he do before, but what else did he do at all, except labour by my preservation to establish your authority and dignity on a firm basis for the future?