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. 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? 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, And do you now cull out a holiday? Run to your houses, fall upon your knees, TREBONIUS. Go, go, good countrymen, and, for this fault, 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. Forget not, in your speed, Antonius, ANTONY. I shall remember; When Cæsar says "Do this," it is perform'd. Who is it in the press that calls on me? I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music, 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? I am not gamesome; I do lack some part CASSIUS. Brutus, I do observe you now of late: : BRUTUS. Cassius, Be not deceiv'd; if I have veil'd my look, Of late with passions of some difference, Which give some soil, perhaps, to my behaviours Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war, CASSIUS. Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your passion; BRUTUS. No, Cassius; for the eye sees not itself, CASSIUS. 'Tis just; And it is very much lamented, Brutus, That you have no such mirrors as will turn That you might see your shadow. I have heard, BRUTUS. Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius, |