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CASCA.

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

FIRST CITIZEN.

Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me; yet if you be out, sir, I can mend you.

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Truly, sir, all that I live by is with the awl. I meddle with no tradesman's matters, nor women's matters: but withal 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 handiwork.

TREBONIUS.

But wherefore art not in thy shop to-day?

Why dost thou lead these men about the streets?

FIRST CITIZEN.

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.

CASCA.

Wherefore rejoice? What conquest brings he home?
What tributaries follow him to Rome,

To 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
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 sat
The livelong day, with patient expectation,
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 Tiber trembled underneath her banks,
To hear the replication of your sounds
Made in her concave shores?

And do you now cull out a holiday?
And do you now strew 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 must light on this ingratitude.

TREBONIUS.

Go, go, good countrymen, and, for this fault,
Assemble all the poor men of your sort;
Draw them to Tiber banks, and weep your tears
Into the channel, till the lowest stream
Do kiss the most exalted shores of all.
See whe'r their baser metal be not mov'd!

They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness.

[March.

Enter, in procession with music, CÆSAR; ANTONY, for the course; CALPURNIA, DECIUS, and CASCA, a great crowd following, among them a Soothsayer.

CÆSAR.

Calpurnia!

ANTONY.

Peace, ho! Cæsar speaks.

[Music ceases.

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Forget not, in your speed, Antonius,
To touch Calpurnia; for our elders say,
The barren, touched in this holy chase,
Shake off their sterile curse.

ANTONY.

I shall remember;

When Cæsar says "Do this," it is perform'd.

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Who is it in the press that calls on me?

I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music,
Cry, Cæsar. Speak; Cæsar is turn'd to hear.

SOOTHSAYER.

Beware the ides of March.

What man is that?

CESAR.

ANTONY.

A soothsayer bids you beware the ides of March.

CÆSAR.

Set him before me; let me see his face.

ANTONY.

Fellow, come from the throng; look upon Cæsar.

CÆSAR.

What say'st thou to me now? Speak once again.

SOOTHSAYER.

Beware the ides of March.

CÆSAR.

He is a dreamer; let us leave him :

pass.

[March. Exeunt all. Enter BRUTUS and CASSIUS.

CASSIUS.

Will you go see the order of the course?

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I am not gamesome; I do lack some part
Of that quick spirit that is in Antony.
Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires;
I'll leave you.

CASSIUS.

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.

:

BRUTUS.

Cassius,

Be not deceiv'd; if I have veil'd my look,
I turn the trouble of my countenance
Merely upon myself. Vexed I am

Of late with passions of some difference,
Conceptions only proper to myself,

Which give some soil, perhaps, to my behaviours
But let not therefore my good friends be griev'd···
Among which number, Cassius, be you one
Nor construe any further my neglect,

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

CASSIUS.

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Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your passion;
By means whereof this breast of mine hath buried
Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations.
Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face?

BRUTUS.

No, Cassius; for the eye sees not itself,
But by reflection by some other things.

CASSIUS.

'Tis just;

And it is very much lamented, Brutus,

That you have no such mirrors as will 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 immortal Cæsar, speaking of Brutus,
And groaning underneath this age's yoke,
Have wish'd that noble Brutus had his eyes.

BRUTUS.

Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius,
That you would have me seek into myself
For that which is not in me?

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