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A C T I. SCENE, a Street in Rome; Enter Flavius, (1) Marullus, and certain Commoners.
F LA V IU S.
ENCE; home, you idle creatures, get
Is this a holiday? what! know you not, H
Being mechanical, you ought not walk
Upon a labouring day, without the fign COUT of your profeflion
? speak, what trade
art thou s
Car. Why, Sir, a carpenter.
Mar. Where is thy leather apron, and thy rule?
Whzt dost thou with thy best apparel on ?
You, Sir,— What trade are you?
Cob. Truly, Sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but, as you would say, à cobler.
Mar. But what trade art thou ? answer me directly.
Çob. A trade, Sir, that, I hope, I may use with a safe conscience ; which is, indeed, Sir, a mender of bad foals.
(1) Murellus,] I have, upon the Authority of Plutarch, &c. given this Tribune, his right Name, Marullus.
Flav. What trade, thou knave ? thou naughty knave, what trade?
Cob. Nay, I befeech you, Sir, be not out with me: yet if
you be out, Sir, I can mend you. (2) Flav. What mean'st thou by that? mend me, thou saucy fellow?
Cob. Why, Sir, cobble you.
Flav. Thou art a cobler, art thou ?
Cob. Truly, Sir, all, that I live by, is the awl: I meddle with no tradesman's matters, nor woman's matters; but with-all, I am, indeed, Sir, a surgeon to old fhoes ; when they are in great danger, I recover them. As proper men as ever trod upon neats-leather have gone upon my handy-work.
Flav. But wherefore art not in thy shop to-day : Why dolt thou lead these men about the streets ?
Cob. Truly, Sir, to wear out their shoes, to get myself into more work. But, indeed, Sir, we make holiday to fee Cafar, and to rejoice in his triumph, Mar. Wherefore rejoice !-what conqueft brings he
What tributaries follow him to Rome,
To grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels ?
You blocks, you ftones, you worse than senseless things !
O you hard hearts ! you cruel men of Rome ?
Knew you not Pompey ? many a time and oft
to walls and battlements,
To towers and windows, yea, to chimney tops,
Your infants in your arms; and there have fate
The live-long day with patient expectation,
To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome :
And when you saw his chariot but appear,
Have you not made an universal fout,
That Tyber trembled underneath his banks
To hear the replication of your sounds,
Made in his concave shores?
(2) Mar. Wbat mean'A tbou by ebat?] As the Cobler, in the preceding Speech, replies to Flavius, not to Marullus ; 'tis plain, I think, this Speech must be given to Flavius,
And do you now put on your best attire?
And do you now call out an holiday?
And do you now strew flowers in his way,
That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood?
Run to your houses, fall upon your knees,
Pray to the Gods, to intermit the plague,
That needs must light on this ingratitude.
Flav. Go, go, good countrymen, and for this fault
Assemble all the poor men of your sort ;
Draw them to Tyber's bank, and weep your tears
Into the channel, 'till the lowest stream
Do kiss the most exalted shores of all,
See, whe're their baseft metal be not mov'd;
They vanish tongue-ty'd in their guiltiness.
Go you down that way tow'rds the Capitol,
This way will I ; difrobe the images,
If you do find them deck'd with ceremonies.
Mar. May we do fo?
You know, it is the feast of Lupercal. '
Flav. It is no matter, let no images
Be hung with Cafar's trophies ; I'll about,
And drive away the vulgar from the street :
So do you too, where you perceive them thick.
These growing feathers, pluckt from Cæfar's wing,
Will make him fly an ordinary pitch ;
Who else would soar above the view of men,
And keep us all in servile fearfulness. (Exeunt severally.
Enter Cæsar, Antony, for the Course, Calphurnia, Por-
cia, Decius, Cicero, Brutus, Caflius, Calca, a SootbSayer. Cæf. Calphurnia, Casc. Peace, ho! Cæfar speaks. Cef. Calphurnia, Calp. Here, my lord. Cæs. Stand you directly in Antonius' way, When he doth run his Course-Antonius, Ant. Cæfar, my lord.
Cæf. Forget not in your speed, Antorius,
To touch Calphurnia ; for our Eiders say,
The barren, touched in this holy chase,
Shake off their fteril curse.
Ant. I shall remember.
When Cæfar says, do this ; it is perform d.
Cæf. Set on, and leave no ceremony out.
Cæf. Ha! who calls ?
Casc. Bid every noise be fill; peace yet again.
Cef. Who is it in the Press, that calls on me?
I hear a tongue, fhriller than all the musick,
Cry, Cæfar. Speak; Cæfar is turn'd to hear.
Sooth. Beware the Ides of March.
Caf. What man is that?
Bru. A soothsayer bids you beware the Ides of March,
Cæf. Set him before me, let me see his face.
Cás. Fellow, come from the throng, look upon Cæfar.
Cés. What fay'st thou to me now? speak once again.
Sooth. Beware the Ides of March.
Cæf. He is a dreamer, let us leave him; pass.
[Exeunt Cæsar and Train.
Manent Brutus and Caffius.
Caf. Will you go fee che order of the Course :
Bru. Not I.
Cas. I pray you,
Bru. I am not gamesom; I do lack some part
Of that quick fpirit that is in Antony :
Let me not binder, Cafius, your desires ;
Caf. Brutus, I do observe you now of late;
I have not from your eyes that gentleness
And shew of love, as I was wont to have ;
You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand
Over your friend that loves you.
Be not deceiv'd : if I have veil'd my look,
I turn the trouble of my countenance
Meerly upon myself. Vexed I am,
Of late, with passions of some difference,
Conceptions only proper to myself ;
Which give some foil, perhaps, to my behaviour:
But let not therefore my good friends be griev'd,
Among which number, Caffius, be you one;
Nor conftrue any farther my negle&,
Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war,
Forgets the shews of love to other men.
Caf. Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your passion;
By means whereof, this breast of mine hath buried
Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations.
Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face ?
Bru. No, Casius ; for the eye fees not itself,
But by reflexion from some other things.
Cas. 'Tis juft.
And it is very much lamented, Brutus,
That you have no such mirrors, as will turn
Your hidden worthiness into your eye,
That you might see your shadow. I have heard,
Where many of the best respect in Rome,
(Except immortal Cæfar) speaking of Brutus,
And groaning underneath this age's yoak,
Have wish'd, that noble Brutus had his eyes.
Bru. Into what dangers would you lead me, Caffius,
That you would have me seek into myself,
For that which is not in me?
Caf. Therefore, good Brutus, be prepard to hear; And fince
know, you cannot see yourself
So well as by reflexion ; I, your glass,
Will modestly discover to yourself
That of yourself, which yet you know not of.
And be not jealous of me, gentle Brutus :
Were I a common laugher, or did use
To stale with ordinary oaths my love
To every new protestor ; if
That I do fawn on men, and hug them hard,
And after fcandal them: or if you know,
That I profess myself in banqueting
To all the rout, then hold me dangerous.
(Flourish and fout.