J. now moves on to the petition for eloquium (‘eloquence’). The switch is sudden and unannounced, thus securing the reader's attention. But it is not jarring, because the poet is just moving on to another object of prayer (one which has already been touched on at 9f.), and because there are several links with the preceding lines – eloquence is a form of power (128); Cicero in line 114 recalls the other politicians of his day at 108f.; the desire for pre-eminence at 114f. mirrors that in 110; prayer and divinities figure at 115f., as they did at 111f.; and death at 118f. takes up 112f.

There is a lot in the way of enlivening variety. In particular, this is a much shorter section than the previous one, with two exempla this time (one of them not Roman), and they (though handled much more briefly) dominate the whole passage. The attack now shifts to a corner stone of the Roman educational system (oratory), and the tone becomes sadder. The investigation of the topic is not full, probing and wide-ranging (as it was at 56–113), and the critical position adopted here is a lot more questionable and weak.

J. is picking up his claim at 9f., that many have died as a result of their facundity, and here with his two examples (Cicero and Demosthenes) he allows for no other outcome. The main thrust is that eloquence leads to death (and a horrible death at that: see 120 and 126f.), and so its harmful aspect is emphasized. But he does not allow that the two orators accomplished anything significant through their speeches, so that pointlessness is implied also. One wonders how such a well-educated and eloquent a person as J. can reasonably be so damning.

There is force in J.'s presentation. His first exemplum (Cicero) is a Roman one, which would have had impact on readers of his day, and he reinforces that with a non-Roman one. Death is put across strongly at 118f., is then immediately succeeded by the sensational 120, and for stress features again at 123 and 126f.