Puslapio vaizdai




SCENE, a Street in ROME.

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



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? Speak, what trade art thou? Car. Why, Sir, a carpenter.

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

You, Sir,-What trade are you?

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

Mar. But what trade art thou? answer 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.

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(1) Murellus.] I have, upon the authority of Plutarch, &c. given to this Tribune, his right name, Marullus.

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Flav. What trade, thou knave? thou naughty knave, what trade?


Cab. Nay, I beseech you, Sir, be not out with me : if you be out, Sir, I can mend you.

(2) Flav. What mean'ft 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 gone upon my handy-work.

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

Cob. Truly, Sir, to wear out their fhoes, to get my-Telf 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,

Το grace in captive bonds his chariot-wheels?
You blocks, you ftones, you worse than fenfelefs 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 pass the streets of Rome :
And when you faw his chariot but appear,
Have you not made an universal shout,
That Tyber trembled underneath his banks
To hear the replication of your founds,
Made in his concave fhores?

And do you now put on your best attire ?

(2) Mar. What mean'ft thou by that ?] As the Cobler, in the preced1ng fpeech, replies to Flavius, not to Marullus; 'tis plain, I think, this fpeech must be given to Flavius.


And do you now call 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 this fault Affemble all the poor men of your Sort ;

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, whe're their baseft mettle be not mov'd; 'I hey 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 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 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 Courf, Calphurnia, Porcia, Decius, Cicero, Brutus, Caffius, Cafca, a Soothsayer. Caf. Calpburnia,

Cafe. Peace, ho! Cafar fpeaks.

Caf. Calpurnia,—

Calp. Here, my lord.

Caf. Stand you directly in Antonius' way,

When he doth run his Courfe

Ant. Cefar, my lord.


Caf. Forget not in your fpeed, Antonius, To touch Calpburnia; for our Elders fay,

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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?

Cafe. 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 mufick,
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..

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

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

[Exeurt Cæfar and Train,

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 gamefome; I do lack fome part Of that quick spirit that is in Antony:

Let me not hinder, Caffius, your desires ;

I'll leave you.

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Caf. Brutus, I do observe 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 friend that loves you.

Bru. Caffius,

Be not deceiv'd: if I have veil'd my look,
I turn the trouble of. my countenance
Meerly upon my self. Vexed I am,
Of late, with paffions of fome difference,
Conceptions only proper to my self;

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 breast 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 it felf,
But by reflexion from fome other things.
Caf. 'Tis just..

And it is very much lamented, Brutus,
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 yoak,
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 my self,
For that which is not in me?

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

Will modeftly discover to your



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 ufe
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 fcandal them; or if you know,
That I profefs my felf in banquetting
To all the rout, then hold me dangerous.

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[Flourish and fhout. Bru. What means this fhouting? I do fear, the People

Chufe Cafar for their King.

Caf, Ay, do you fear it ?

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