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Enter Flavius, Murellus, and certain Commoners
over the Stage.
ENCE; Home you idle Creatures, get you
Is this a Holy-day? What, know
you not, Being Mechanical
, you ought not walk Upon a labouring Day, without the Sign
Of your Profession Speak, whatTrade art thous Car. Why Sir, a Carpenter. Mur. Where is thy Leather Apron, and thy Rule? What 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 say would say, a Cobler.
Mur. But what Trade art thou answer me dire&ly.
Cob. A Trade, Sir, that I hope I may use with a safe Conscience, 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'st thou by that? Mend me, chou fawcy 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 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 dost thou lead these Men about the Streets?
Cob. Truly Sir, to wear out their Shooes, to get my self into more wotk. But indeed Sir, we make Holy-day to see Cafar, and to rejoyce in his Triumph. Mur. Wherefore rejoyce ?
What Conquest brings
(he home? What Tributaries follow him to Rome, То
grace in Captive Bonds his Chariot Wheels? You Blocks, you Stones, you worse than senseless Things ! O you
hard Hearts! You cruel Men of Rome ! Knew you not Pompey many a time and oft?
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 Expe&ation,
To see great Pompey pass the Streets of Rome ?
And when you saw his Chariot but appear,
Have you not made an Universal 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 strew Flowers in his way,
That comes in Triumph over Pompey's Blcod?
· 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 Bank, and weep your Tears
Into the Channel, 'till the lowest Stream
Do kiss the most exalted Shores of all. [Exeunt Commoners.
See where their basest Mettle be not mov'd,
They vanish tongue-ty'd in their Guiltiness.
you down that way towards the Capitol,
This way will I ; Disrobe the Images,
If you do find them deck'd with Ceremonies.
Mur. May we do so ?
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.
These growing Feathers pluckt from Cafar'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: Enter Cæsar, Antony for the Course, Calphurnia, Portia,
Decius, Cicero, Brutus, Callius, Caska, a Soothsayer ;
after them Murellus and Flavius.
Cask. Peace ho, Cafar speaks.
Calp. Here, my Lord.
Caf. Stand you dire&ly in Antonio's way,
When he doth run his Course. Antonio.
Ant. Cafar, my Lord.
Caf. Forget not in your speed, Antonio.
To touch Calphurnia; for our Elders say,
The Barren touched in this holy Chase,
Shake off their steril Curse.
Ant. I shall remember.
When Cafar fays, Do this; it is perform'd.
Caf. Set on, and leave no Ceremony out.
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, thriller than all the Musick,
Cry, Cæfar: Speak; Cæfar is turn’d to hear.
Sooth. Beware the Ides of March.
Caef. What Man is that 3
Bru. A Sooth-sayer bids you beware the Ides of March.
Caf. Set him before me, let me see his face.
Caf. Fellow, come from the Throng, look upon Cafar.
Céf. What say'st thou to me now? Speak once again.
Sooth. Beware the Ides of March.
Caf. He is a Dreamer, let us leave him ; Pass.
[Excunt. 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 Gamesom; I do lack some part
Of that quick Spirit that is in Antony:
Let me not hinder, Cafsins, your Délires;
Caf. Brutus, I do obferve 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 Friends, that love you.
Be not deceiv'd : if I have veild my look,
I turn the Trouble of my Countenance
Meerly upon my self. Vexed I am
Of late, with Pallions of fome Difference,
Conceptions only proper to my felf,
Which give some Soil, perhaps, to my Behaviour :
But let not therefore my good friends be griev'd,
Among which Number Caffius be you one,
Nor construe any further 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 Pallion,
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 Cassius; for the Eye sees not it felf,
But by Refle&ion, by some other things.
Cas. 'Tis juft,
And it is very much lamented, Brutus,
That you have no such mirrors, as wilt 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 immortaliCafar, 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 my self,
For that which is not in me?
Caf. Therefore, good Brutus, be prepard to hear ;
And fince you know you cannot see your self
So well as by Refleđion ; I, your Glass,
Will modestly discover to your self
That of your self, 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
know That I do fawn on Men, and hug them hard, And after scandal them; or if you
know, That I profess my self in Banqueting To all the Rout, then hold me dangerous.
[Flourish and Shout. Bru. What means this Shouting? I do fear, the People Chuse Cefar for their King. Caf. Ay, do
fear it ?
Then must I think you would not have it fo.
Bru. I would not, Cassius; yet I love him well:
But wherefore do you hold me here so 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'ch other,
And I will look on both indifferently:
For let the Gods so speed 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 subject of my Story:
I cannot tell, what you and other Men
Think of this Life; but for my single self,
I had as lief not be, as live to be :)