JULIUS CESAR.

ACT I.

SCENE, a Street in ROME.

Enter Flavius, (1) Marullus, and certain Commoners.

H

FLAVIU S.

ENCE; home, you idle creatures, get you home;

Is this a holiday? what! know you not, Being mechanical, you ought not walk Upon a labouring day, without the fign Of your profeffion? fpeak, what trade art thou? Car. Why, Sir, a carpenter.

Mar. Where is thy leather apron, and thy rule? What doft thou with thy beft apparel on?

You, Sir,- -What trade are you?

Cob. Truly, Sir, in refpect of a fine workman, I am but, as you would fay, a cobler.

Mar. But what trade art thou? anfwer me directly. Cob. A trade, Sir, that, I hope, I may ufe with a fafe confcience; which is, indeed, Sir, a mender of bad foals.

(1) Murellus.] I have, upon the Authority of Plutarch, &c. given to this Tribune, his right Name, Marullus. A 3

Flav.

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't thou by that? mend me, thou faucy 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 tradefman's matters, nor woman's matters; but with-all, I am, indeed, Sir, a furgeon to old fhoes; when they are in great danger, I recover them. As proper men as ever trod upon neats-leather have upon my handy-work.

gone

Flav. But wherefore art not in thy fhop to-day? Why doft thou lead these men about the streets?

Cob. Truly, Sir, to wear out their fhoes, to get myfelf 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 home?

What tributaries.follow him to Rome,

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grace in captive bonds his chariot-wheels? You blocks, you ftones, you worse than fenfeless things! O you hard hearts! you cruel men of Rome! Knew you not Pompey? many a time and oft Have you climb'd up to walls and battlements, To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops, Your infants in your arms; and there have sate The live-long day with patient expectation, To fee great Pompey país the streets of Rome: And when faw his chariot but appear, Have you not made an univerfal fhout, That Tyber trembled underneath his banks To hear the replication of your founds, Made in his concave fhores ?

you

(2) Mar. What mean'st thou by that ?] 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

And do you now put on your beft attire ?
And do you now cull out an holiday?
And do you now ftrew flowers in his way,
That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood?
Be gone

Run to your houses, fall upon your knees,
Pray to the Gods, to intermit the plague,
That needs muft light on this ingratitude.
Flav. Go, go, good countrymen, and for that fault
Affemble all the poor men of your fort;
Draw them to Tyber's bank, and weep your tears
Into the channel, 'till the lowest stream
Do kifs the most exalted fhores of all.

[Exeunt Commoners.
See, whe're their basest metal be not mov'd;
They vanish tongue-ty'd in their guiltinefs.
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 Cæfar's trophies; I'll about,
And drive away the vulgar from the streets:
So do you too, where you perceive them thick.
Thefe growing feathers, pluckt from Cæfar's wing,
Will make him fly an ordinary pitch;

Who else would foar above the view of men,

And keep us all in fervile fearfulness. [Exeunt feverally.

Enter Cæfar, Antony, for the Course, Calphurnia, Porcia, Decius, Cicero, Brutus, Caffius, Cafca, a Soothsayer.

Caf. Calphurnia,

Cafca. Peace, ho! Cæfar fpeaks.

Caf. Calphurnia,

Calp. Here, my Lord.

Caf. Stand you directly in Antonius' way, When he doth run his Course-Antonius,"

Ant. Cæfar, my Lord.

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Caf.

Caf. Forget not in your speed, Antonius, To touch Calphurnia; for our Elders fay, The barren, touched in this holy chase, Shake off their fteril curfe.

Ant. I fhall remember.

When Cafar fays, do this; it is perform'd.
Caf. Set on, and leave no ceremony out.
Sooth. Cafar,

Caf. Ha! who calls?

Cafca. Bid every noise be ftill; peace yet again.
Caf. Who is it in the Prefs, that calls on me
I hear a tongue, fhriller than all the musick,
Cry, Cafar. Speak; Cæfar is turn'd to hear.
Sooth. Beware the Ides of March.

Caf. What man is that?

Bru. A footh-fayer bids you beware the Ides of March. Caf. Set him before me, let me fee his face.

Cafca. Fellow, come from the throng, look upon Cafar. Caf. What fay'ft thou to me now? fpeak once again. Scoth. Beware the Ides of March.

Caf. He is a dreamer, let us leave him; pafs.

[Exeunt Cæfar and Train.

Manent Brutus and Caffius.

Caf. Will you go see the order of the Course?
Bru. Not I.

Caf. I pray you, do.

Bru. I am not gamefome; I do lack fome part
Of that quick fpirit that is in Antony :

Let me not hinder, Caffius, your defires;
I'll leave you.

Caf. Brutus, I do obferve you now of late;
I have not from your eyes that gentleness
And fhew of love, as I was wont to have;
You bear too ftubborn and too strange a hand
Over friend that loves you.

your

Bru. Caffius,

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

Of late, with paffions of fome difference,
Conceptions only proper to myself;

Which give fome 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 neglect,

Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war,
Forgets the fhews of love to other men.

Caf. Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your paffion
By means whereof, this breaft of mine hath buried
Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations.
Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face?
Bru. No, Caffius; for the eye fees not itself,
But by reflexion from fome other things.
Caf. "Tis just.

And it is very much lamented, Brutas,
That you
have no fuch mirrors, as will turn
Your hidden worthiness into your eye,
That you might fee 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 yoke,
Have wifh'd, that noble Brutus had his eyes.
Bru. Into what dangers would you lead me, Caffius
That you would have me feek into myself,
For that which is not in me?

Caf. Therefore, good Brutus, be prepar'd to hear;
And fince you know, you cannot fee yourself
So well as by reflexion; I, your glass,

Will modeftly discover to yourself

That of yourself, which yet you know not of
And be not jealous of me, gentle Brutus :
Were I a common laughter, or did use
To ftale with ordinary oaths my love

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every new proteftor; if you know,

That I do fawn on men, and hug them hard,
And after fcandal them; or if you know,
That I profefs myfelf in banqueting
To all the rout, then hold me dangerous.

[Flourish and fhout..

A 5.

Bru..