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The live-long day with patient expectation,
To fee great Pompey pafs 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 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 that fault

Affemble all the poor men of your fort,

Draw them to Tyber's 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 metal be not mov'd; They vanish tongue-ty'd in their guiltinefs. Go you down that way tow'rds the Capitol, This way will I. Difrobe the images,


you do find them 3 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?

3-deck'd with ceremonies.] Ce- by Cafar's trophies; i. e. fuck

as he had dedicated to the Gods.

remonies, for religious ornaments.

Thus afterwards he explains them


So do you too, where your perceive them thick.
Thefe growing feathers, pluckt from Cæfar's wing,
Will make him fly an ordinary pitch;

Who elfe would foar above the view of men,

And keep us all in fervile fearfulness.

[Exeunt feverally:


Enter Cæfar, Antony. For the Course, Calphurnia, Porcia, Decius,. Cicero, Brutus, Caffius, Cafca, a Soothfajer.

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Cef. Calpburnia

Calp. Here, my Lord.

Caf. Stand you directly in Antonius' way, When he doth run his Courfe

Ant. Cæfar. My Lord.


Caf. Forget not in your speed, Antonius, To touch Calphurria; for our Elders fay, The barren, touched in this holy chase, 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.
South. Cafar,

Caf. Ha! who calls?

Cafca. Bid every noife be fill. Peace! Yet again.
Caf. Who is it in the Prefs, that calls on me?

I hear a tongue, fhriller than all the musick,
Cry, Cafar. Speak; Cafar is turn'd to hear.
Soo b. Beware the Ides of March.

Caf. What man is that?

Bru. A footh-fayer bids you beware the Ides of



Caf. Set him before me; let me fee his face.
Cafca. Fellow, come from the throng. Look upon


Caf. What fay'ft thou to me now? Speak once again.

Sooth. Beware the Ides of March.

Caf. He is a dreamer; let us leave him. Pafs.

[+ Sennet. Exeunt 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 some part
Of that quick spirit that is in Antony.

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

Caf. Brutus, I do obferve you now of lates
I have not from your eyes that gentleness
And fhew of love, as I was wont to have.
You bear too stubborn 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 myself. Vexed I am,
Of late, with paffions of fome difference,
Conceptions only proper to myself,

+ I have here inferted the word of martial mufick. Sennet, from the original edition, that I may have an opportunity of retracting a hafty conjecture in one of the marginal directions in Henry VIII. Sennet appears to be a particular tune or mode

5ftrange a hand] Strange is alien, unfamiliar, fuch as might become a ftranger.

6-paffions of Jome difference,] With a fluctuation of discordant opinions and defires. B 4


Which give some foil, perhaps, to my behaviours;
But let not therefore my good friends be griev❜d,
Among which number, Caffius, be you one,
Nor conftrue any further 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 breaft of mine hath buried
Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations.
Tell me, good Brutus, can you fee your face?
Bru. No, Caffius; for the eye fees not itself,
But by reflexion from fome other things.
Cas. '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 fhadow. I have heard,
Where many of the best refpect in Rome,
Except immortal Cæfar, fpeaking of Brutus,
And groaning underneath this age's yoke,
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 myself,
For that which is not in me ?

Caf. Therefore, good Brutus, be prepar❜d to hear; And fince you know, you cannot see yourself So well as by reflexion; I, your glass,

Will modeftly discover to yourself

That of yourself, 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 protestor; if you know,
That I do fawn on men, and hug them hard,

7 To ftale with ordinary oaths my love, &c.] To invite every new protestor to my affec

tion by the ftale or allurement of cuftomary oaths.


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And after fcandal them; or if you know,
That I profess myself in banqueting

To all the rout; then hold me dangerous.

[Flourish and fhout.

Bru. What means this fhouting? I do fear, the

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Then must I think, you would not have it fo.
Bru. I would not, Caffius; yet I love him well.
But wherefore do you hold me here fo long?

What is it, that you would impart to me?

If it be aught toward the general good,

Set Honour in one eye, and Death i'th other,
" And I will look on both indifferently,
For, let the Gods fo fpeed 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 fubject of my story.
I cannot tell, what you and other men
Think of this life; but for my fingle felf,

8 And I will look on both indifferently;] This is a contradiction to the lines immediately fucceeding. If he lov'd honour more than be fear'd death, how could they be both indifferent to him? Honour thus is but in equal balance to death, which is not fpeaking at all like Brutus: for, in a foldier of any ordinary pretenfions, honour should always preponderate. We must certainly read,

And I will look on death indifferently. What occafion'd the corruption, I prefume, was, the tranfcribers imagining, the adverb indifferently must be applied to two things

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This long note is very trifling. When Brutus first names honour and death, he calmly declares them indifferent; but as the image kindles in his mind, he fets honour above life. Is not this natural?

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