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JULIUS CÆSAR.

ACTI. SCENE I

SCENE Rome.

Enter Flavius, Murellus, and certain Commoners over the Stage.

FLAVIUS.

ENCE; Home you idle Creatures, get you home;

H

Is this a Holy-day? What, know you not,
Being Mechanical, you ought not walk
Upon a labouring Day, without the Sign
Of your Profeffion? Speak, what Trade art thou?

Car. Why Sir, a Carpenter.

Mur. Where is thy Leather Apron, and thy Rule? What doft thou with thy beft Apparel on?

You Sir, what Trade are you?

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Cob. Truly Sir, in refpect of a fine Workman, I am but as you fay would say, a Cobler.

Mur. But what Trade art thou? anfwer me directly. Cob. A Trade, Sir, that I hope I may ufe with a fafet Confcience, which is indeed, Sir, a mender of bad Soals. 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.

Mur. What mean'ft thou by that? Mend me, thou fawcy Fellow?

Cob. Why, Sir, Cobble you.

Flav. Thou art a Cobler, art thou?

Cob.

Cob. Truly Sir, all that I live by, is the Awl: I meddle with no Tradefman's Matters, nor Woman's Matters; but withal, I am indeed, Sir, a Surgeon to old Shooes; 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 doft thou lead thefe Men about the Streets?

Cob. Truly Sir, to wear out their Shooes, to get my felf into more wotk. But indeed Sir, we make Holy-day to fee Cafar, and to rejoyce in his Triumph.

Mur. Wherefore rejoyce?

What Conqueft brings

What Tributaries follow him to Rome,

To grace in Captive Bonds his Chariot Wheels?

(he home?

You Blocks, you Stones, you worfe 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 fate
The live-long Day with patient Expectation,
To fee great Pompey pafs the Streets of Rome ?
And when you faw his Chariot but appear,
Have you not made an Univerfal Shout,
That Tyber trembled underneath his Banks
To hear the Replication of your Sounds,
Made in his Concave Shores ?

And do you now put on your best Attire ?
And do you now cull out an Holy-day?
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 this Fault
Affemble all the poor Men of your fort;
Draw them to Tyber Bank, and weep your Tears
Into the Channel, 'till the lowest Stream

Do kifs the most exalted Shores of all. [Exeunt Commoners.

See

See where their basest Mettle be not mov'd,
They vanish tongue-ty'd in their Guiltinefs.
Go you down that way towards the Capitol,
This way will I; Difrobe the Images,

If you do find them deck'd with Ceremonies.
Mur. 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 Streets;
So do you too, where you perceive them thick.
Thefe growing Feathers pluckt from Cafar's Wing,
Will make him fly an ordinary Pitch,

Who elfe would foar above the view of Men,
And keep us all in fervile Fearfulness.

[Exeunt:

Enter Cæfar, Antony for the Course, Calphurnia, Portia, Decius, Cicero, Brutus, Caffius, Caska, a Soothsayer ; after them Murellus and Flavius.

Caf. Calphurnia.

Cask. Peace ho, Cafar speaks.

Caf. Calphurnia.

Calp. Here, my Lord.

Caf. Stand you directly in Antonio's way,

When he doth run his Courfe.

Ant. Cafar, my Lord.

Antonio.

Caf. Forget not in your speed, Antonio. To touch Calphurnia; for our Elders fay, The Barren touched in this holy Chafe, 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?

Cask. Bid every Noise be still; Peace yet again.
Caf. Who is it in the Press that calls on me?
I hear a Tongue, fhriller than all the Mufick,
Cry, Cafar: Speak; Cafar is turn'd to hear.
Sooth. Beware the Ides of March.
Caf. What Man is that?

Bru.

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

Caf. Fellow, come from the Throng, look upon Cafar. Caf. What fay'ft thou to me now? Speak once again. Sooth. Beware the Ides of March.

Caf. He is a Dreamer, let us leave him; Pass.

[Exeunt. Manent Brutus and Caffius. Caf. Will you go fee the order of the Course ? Bru. Not I.

Caf. I pray you do.

Bru. I am not Gamefom; I do lack fome part
Of that quick Spirit 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 your Friends, that love you.

Bru. Caffius,

Be not deceiv'd if I have veil'd my look,
I turn the Trouble of my Countenance
Meerly upon my felf. Vexed I am

Of late, with Paffions of fome Difference,
Conceptions only proper to my felf,

Which give fome Soil, perhaps, to my Behaviour:
But let not therefore my good Friends be griev❜d,
Among which Number Caffius be you one,
Nor conftrue any further 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 fee your Face?
Bru. No Caffius; for the Eye fees not it felf,
But by Reflection, by fome other things.
Caf. 'Tis juft,

And it is very much lamented, Brutus,
That you have no fuch mirrors, as will turn
Your hidden worthiness into your Eye,

That

That you might fee your Shadow. I have heard
Where many of the beft Refpect in Rome,
Except immortal Cafar, fpeaking 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 feek into my felf,
For that which is not in me?

Caf. Therefore, good Brutus, be prepar'd to hear;
And fince you know you cannot fee your felf
So well as by Reflection; I, your Glafs,
Will modeftly discover to your felf

That of your felf, which yet you know not of,
And be not jealous of me, gentle Brutus;
Were I a common. Laugher, or did use
To ftale with ordinary Oaths my Love
To every new Proteftor; if you know
That I do fawn on Men, and hug them hard,
And after scandal them; or if you know,
That I profefs my felf in Banqueting

To all the Rout, then hold me dangerous.

[Flourish and Shont.

Brs. What means this Shouting? I do fear, the People Chufe Cafar for their King.

Caf. Ay, do you fear it?

Then must I think you would not have it fo.

Bru. I would not, Caffius; yet I love him well:
But wherefore do you hold me here fo long?
What is it, that you would impart to me?
If it be ought toward the general Good,
Set Honour in one Eye, and Death i'th' other,
And I will look on both indifferently:
For let the Gods fo fpeed me, as I love
The name of Honour, more than I fear Death.
Caf. I know that Virtue to be in you, Brutus,
As well as I do know your outward Favour;
Well, Honour is the fubject of my Story:
I cannot tell, what you and other Men
Think of this Life; but for my fingle felf,
I had as lief not be, as live to be

VOL. V.

M

In

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