JULIUS CÆSAR. ACT 1. SCENE I. Rome. A Street. Enter Flavius, Marullus, and a rabble of Citizens. Flav. HENCE; 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 sign Of your profession? - Speak, what trade art thou ? 1 Cil. Why, sir, a carpenter. Mar. Where is thy leather apron, and thy rule ? What dost thou with thy best apparel on ?You, sir; what trade are you? 2 Cit. Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but, as you would say, a cobbler. Mar. But what trade art thou? Answer me di rectly. 2 Cit. A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use with a safe conscience; which is, indeed, sir, a mender of bad soals. Mar. What trade, thou knave? thou naughty knave, what trade ? 2 Cit. Nay, Í beseech you, sir, be not out with me: yet, if you be out, sir, I can mend you. Mar. What meanest thou by that? Mend me, thou saucy fellow ? 2 Cit. Why, sir, cobble you. 2 Cit. Truly, sir, all that I live by is, with the awl: I meddle with no tradesman's matters, nor women's matter's, but with awl. I am, indeed, sir, a surgeon to old shoes; when they are in great danger, I recover them. As proper men as ever trod upon neat's-leather, have gone upon my handy work. Flav. But wherefore art not in thy shop to-day? Why dost thou lead these men about the streets? 2 Cit. Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get myself into more work. But, indeed, sir, we make holiday, to see Cæsar, and to rejoice in his triumph. Mar. Wherefore rejoice? What conquest brings he home? What tributaries follow him to Rome, things! O, you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome, And do you now put on your best attire? Run to your houses, fall upon your knees, Flav. Go, go, good countrymen, and, for this fault, Assemble all the poor men of your sort*; Into the channel, till the lowest stream [Exeunt Citizens. See, whe'r* their basest metal be not mov'd; You know, it is the feast of Lupercal. Flav. It is no matter; let no images Be hung with Cæsar's trophies. I'll about, And drive away the vulgar from the streets: So do you too, where you perceive them thick. These growing feathers pluck'd from Cæsar'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. SCENE II. The same. A public place. [Exeunt. Enter, in procession, with musick, Cæsar; Antony, for the course: Calphurnia, Portia, Decius, Cicero, Brutus, Cassius, and Casca, a great crowd fol-lowing; among them a Soothsayer. Cas. Calphurnia,- Cas. Cal. Here, my lord. Cæs. Stand you directly in Antonius' way, When he doth run his course ‡.-Antonius. Ant. Cæsar, my lord. Cæs. Forget not, in your speed, Antonius, To touch Calphurnia: for our elders say, * Whether. + Honorary ornaments; tokens of respect. ‡ A ceremony observed at the feast of Lupercalia. The barren, touched in this holy chase, Ant. I shall remember: When Cæsar says, Do this, it is perform'd. Sooth. Cæsar. Cas. Ha! who calls? [Musick. Casca. Bid every noise be still :-Peace yet again. [Musick ceases. Cæs. Who is it in the press*, that calls on me? I hear a tongue, shriller than all the musick, Cry, Cæsar: Speak; Cæsar is turn'd to hear. Sooth. Beware the ides of March. Cæs. What man is that? Bru. A soothsayer, bids you beware the ides of March. Cæs. Set him before me, let me see his face. Cas. Fellow, come from the throng: Look upon Cæsar. Cæs. What say'st thou to me now? Speak once again. Sooth. Beware the ides of March. Cas. He is a dreamer; let us leave him;-pass. [Sennett. Exeunt all but Bru. and Cas. Cas. Will you go see the order of the course? Bru. Not I. Cas. I pray you, do. Bru. I am not gamesome : 1 do lack some part Of that quick spirit that is in Antony. Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires; I'll leave you. Cas. Brutus, I do observe you now of late: I have not from your eyes that gentleness, And show of love, as I was wont to have: You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand Over your friend that loves you. Bru. Cassius, Be not deceiv'd: if I have veil'd my look, * Crowd. † Flourish of instruments. I turn the trouble of my countenance Which give some soil, perhaps, to my behaviours : Cas. Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your passion*, By means whereof, this breast of mine hath buried Cas. 'Tis just: And it is very much lamented, Brutus, Bru. Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius, That you would have me seek into myself Cas. Therefore, good Brutus, be prepar'd to hear: That of yourself which you yet know not of. † Allure. |