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Enter FLAVIUS, MARULLUS, and a rabble of Citizens. Flav. Hence! 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 sign
Of your profession?-Speak, what trade art thou?
Mar. Where is thy leather apron and thy rule?
2 Cit. Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman,
I am but, as you would say, a cobbler.
Mar. But what trade art thou? answer me directly.
2 Cit. A trade, sir, that I hope I may use with a safe conscience; which is indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles. Mar. What trade, thou knave, thou naughty knave, what trade?
2 Cit. Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me: yet, if you be out, sir, I can mend you.
Mar. What meanest thou by that? mend me, thou saucy fellow!
2 Cit. Why, sir, cobble you.
Flav. Thou art a cobbler, art thou?
2 Cit. Truly, sir, all that I live by is with the awl: I meddle with no tradesman's matters, nor women's matters, but with awl. I am, indeed, sir, a surgeon to old shoes; when they are in great danger, I re-cover them. As proper men as ever trod upon neats-leather have gone upon my handiwork.
Flav. But wherefore art not in thy shop to-day? Why dost thou lead these men about the streets?
2 Cit. 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.
Mar. 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 live-long 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 cancave shores? And do you now put on your best attire? 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.
Flav. 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. [Esceunt Citizens. See, whe'r their basest metal be not mov'd; They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness.
down that way towards the Capitol:
Mar. May we do so?
Flav. It is no matter; let no images
SCENE II.—ROME. A public Place.
course; CALPHURNIA, PORTIA, DECIUS, CICERO, BRUTUS,
[Music ceases. Cæs.
Ant. Cæsar, my lord.
Cæs. Forget not, in your speed, Antonius,
I shall remember:
[Music. Cæs. Ha! Who calls? Casca. Bid every noise be still. —Peace yet again.
[Music ceases. Cæs. Who is it in the press that calls on me? I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music, Cry, Cæsar. Sooth. Beware the ides of March.
Speak; Cæsar is turn'd to hear. Cæs. Brela A soothsayer bids you beware the ides of March. Cæs. Set him before me; let me see his face. Cas. Fellow, come from the throng; look upoul Cas What say'st thou to me now? speak once again. Sooth. Beware the ides of March.
dreamer; let us leave him.-Pass.
[Sennet. Exeunt all but Bru. and Cas. Cas. Will you go see the order of the course?
Cas. I pray you do.
Cæs. He is a
Bru. Not I.
I'll leave you,
How he did shake: 'tis true, this god did shake:
Cas. Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world
Bru. That you do love me, I am nothing jealous;
Be any further mov'd. What you have said
Cas. I am glad that my weak words
are done, and Cæsar is returning.
Re-enter CÆSAR and his Train..
Cas. Casca will tell us what the matter is.
Cæs. Let me have men about me that are fat;
and such as sleep o' nights : Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look; He thinks too much: such men are dangerous.
Ant. Fear him not, Cæsar, he's not dangerous; He is a poble Roman, and well given.
Cæs. Would he were fatter! But I fear him not: Yet if my name were liable to fear, I do not know the man I should avoid So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much; He is a great observer, and he looks As thou dost, Antony; he hears no music: Seldom he smiles; and smiles in such a sort As if he mock'd himself, and scorn'd his spirit That could be mov'd to smile at anything. Such men as he be never at heart's ease Whiles they behold a greater than themselves; And therefore are they very dangerous