JULIUS CÆSAR.

ACTI.

SCENE, a Street in ROME.

Enter Flavius, (1) Marullus, and certain Com

H

moners.

FLAVIU S.

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

Mar. Where is thy leather apron, and thy rule?
What doft thou with thy best apparel on?
You, Sir,What trade are you?

Cob. Truly, Sir, in refpect of a fine workman, Lam but, as you would fay, a cobler.

Mar. But what trade art thou? answer me directly. Cob. A trade, Sir, that, I hope, I may use with a fafe conscience, which is, indeed, Sir, a mender of bad foals.

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

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

Cob.

Cob. Nay, I beseech you, Sir, be not out with mė : yet if you be out, Sir, I can mend you.

(2) Flav. What mean'ft thou by that? mend me, thou 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: Í meddle with no tradefman's matters, nor woman's matters; but with-all, I am, indeed, Sir, a furgeon to old shoes; 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 streets?

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

To grace in captive bonds his chariot-wheels? You blocks, you ftones, you worse than senseless things!

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 univerfal fhout,
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?
And do you now cull out an holi-day?

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

And

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 loweft ftream

Do kiss the most exalted fhores of all.

[Exeunt Commoners. See, whe're their basest mettle be not mov'd; They vanish tongue-ty'd in their guiltinefs. down that way tow'rds the Capitol, This way will I; difrobe the images,

Go you

If you do find them deck'd with ceremonies.
Mar. May we do fo?

You know, it is the feaft 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 Courfe, Calphurnia, Porcia, Decius, Cicero, Brutus, Caffius, Cafca, a Soothsayer.

Caf. Calphurnia,

Cafe: Peace, ho! Cæfar speaks.

Caf. Calphurnia,

Calp. Here, my lord.

Caf. Stand you directly in Antonius' way,

When he doth run his Courfe

Ant. Cæfar, my lord.

Antonius,

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

The

·

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. Cefar,

Cef. Ha! who calls?

Cafc. Bid every noise be ftill; peace yet again.
Cef. Who is it in the Prefs, that calls on me?
I hear a tongue, fhriller than all the mufick,
Cry, Cæfar. 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.

Caf. Fellow, come from the throng, look upon Cafar.

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.

[Exeunt Cæfar and Train. Manent Brutus and Caffius.

Caf. Will you go fee the order of the Courfe?
Bru. Not I.

Caf. I pray you, do.

Bru. I am not gamefom; I do lack fome part
Of that quick fpirit that is in Antony:

Let me not hinder, Caffius, your defires;
I'll leave you.

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 ftrange 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 felf. Vexed I am,

Of late, with paffions of fome difference,
Conceptions only proper to my felf;

Which

Which give some 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 Shews 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 self,
But by reflexion from 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 you might fee your fhadow. I have heard,
Where many of the best Respect in Rome,
(Except immortal Cafar) fpeaking 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

your felf So well as by reflexion; I, your glass,

Will modeftly difcover 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 fhout. Bru. What means this fhouting? I do fear, the People Chufe Cæfar for their King.

VOL. VI.

K

Caf.