Mar. What trade, thou knave? thou naughty This way will I: disrobe the images, knave, what trade?
2nd 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?
2nd Cit. Why, sir, cobble you.
Flav. Thou art a cobbler, art thou?
2nd 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 handy-work.
Flav. But wherefore art not in thy shop to-day? Why dost thou lead these men about the streets?
2nd 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 climbed 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 concave 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 Tyber banks, and weep your tears
Into the channel, till the lowest stream
Do kiss the most exalted shores of all.
[Exeunt Citizens.
See, whe'r their basest metal be not moved!
They vanish, tongue-tied in their guiltiness.
Go you down that way towards the Capitol;
If you do find them decked with ceremonies.
Mar. May we do so?
You know it is the feast of Lupercal.
Flav. It is no matter: let no images
Be hung with Cæsar's trophies. I'll about,
And drive away the vulgar from the streets:
So do you too, where you perceive them thick.
These growing feathers plucked from Cæsar's
wing
Will make him fly an ordinary pitch;
Who else would soar above the view of men,
And keep us all in servile fearfulness. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.-The same. A public Place.
Enter, in procession, with music, CÆSAR; ANTONY,
for the course; CALPHURNIA, PORTIA, DECIUS,
CICERO, BRUTUS, CASSIUS, and CASCA; a great
Crowd following; among them a Soothsayer.
Cæs. Calphurnia,—
Casca. Peace, ho! Cæsar speaks. [Music ceases.
Cæs. Calphurnia :—
Cæs. Stand you directly in Antonius' way, When he doth run his course.-Antonius :Ant. Cæsar, my lord.
Cæs. Forget not, in your speed, Antonius, To touch Calphurnia: for our elders say, The barren, touchéd in this holy chase, Shake off their steril curse.
When Cæsar says, "Do this," it is performed.
Cæs. Set on, and leave no ceremony out. [Music.
Sooth. Cæsar!
Casca. Bid every noise be still :-peace yet [Music ceases.
Cas. Who is it in the press that calls on me?
I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music,
Cry, "Cæsar." Speak: Cæsar is turned to hear.
Sooth. Beware the ides of March!
Cæs
Bru. A soothsayer bids you beware the ides of
March.
Cas. Set him before me; let me see his face.
Cas. Fellow, come from the throng: look upon
Cæsar.
Cæs. What say'st thou to me now? Speak once
again.
Sooth. Beware the ides of March.
Cæs. He is a dreamer; let us leave him:-pass.
[Sennet. Exeunt all but BRUTUS and CASSIUS.
Cas. Will you go see the order of the course?
Bru. Not I.
Be not deceived: if I have veiled 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
But let not therefore, my good friends be grieved
(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.
Cas. 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? Bru. No, Cassius: for the eye sees not itself, But by reflection, by some other things.
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 wished that noble Brutus had his eyes.
Bru. Into what dangers would you lead me,
Cassius,
That you would have me seek into myself
For that which is not in me?
Cas. Therefore, good Brutus, be prepared to hear:
And since you know you cannot see yourself
So well as by reflection, I (your glass)
Will modestly discover to yourself
That of yourself which you yet know not of.
And be not jealous of me, gentle Brutus :
Were I a common laugher, or did use
To stale with ordinary oaths my love
To every new protester; if you know
That I do fawn on men and hug them hard,
And after scandal them; or if you know
That I profess myself in banqueting
To all the rout, then hold me dangerous.
[Flourish and shout.
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But wherefore do you hold me here so 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' the other,
And I will look on both indifferently:
For let the gods so speed me as I love
The name of honour more than I fear death.
Cas. I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus,
As well as I do know your outward favour.
Well, honour is the subject of my story.-
I cannot tell what you and other men
Think of this life: but, for my single self,
I had as lief not be as live to be
In awe of such a thing as I myself.
I was born free as Cæsar; so were you:
We both have fed as well; and we can both
Endure the winter's cold as well as he.
For once, upon a raw and gusty day,
The troubled Tyber chafing with her shores,
Cæsar said to me,-" Dar'st thou, Cassius, now
Leap in with me into this angry flood,
And swim to yonder point?"-Upon the word,
Accoutred as I was, I plungéd in,
And bade him follow: so indeed he did.
The torrent roared, and we did buffet it
With lusty sinews; throwing it aside
And stemming it with hearts of controversy.
But ere we could arrive the point proposed,
Cæsar cried,"Help me, Cassius, or I sink."
I, as Æneas, our great ancestor,
Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder
The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of
Tyber
![[blocks in formation]](https://books.google.by/books/content?id=1dEDAAAAQAAJ&output=html_text&pg=PA481&img=1&zoom=3&hl=en&q=Brutus&cds=1&sig=ACfU3U2h2hbQipHL-2jtzCBFpsNfJmIg7A&edge=0&edge=stretch&ci=458,1069,359,21)
Is now become a god! and Cassius is
A wretched creature, and must bend his body
If Cæsar carelessly but nod on him!
He had a fever when he was in Spain,
And, when the fit was on him, I did mark
How he did shake :-'t is true, this god did shake:
His coward lips did from their colour fly;
And that same eye whose bend doth awe the world
Did lose his lustre : I did hear him groan:
Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans
Mark him, and write his speeches in their books,
Alas! it cried,-"Give me some drink, Titinius:"
As a sick girl! Ye gods, it doth amaze me
A man of such a feeble temper should
So get the start of the majestic world,
And bear the palm alone. [Shout. Flourish.
Bru. Another general shout!
I do believe that these applauses are
For some new honours that are heaped on Cæsar.
Cas. Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow
world
Like a Colossus; and we petty men
Walk under his huge legs, and peep about
To find ourselves dishonourable graves.
Men at some time are masters of their fates:
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings.
Brutus and Cæsar: what should be in that Cæsar?
Why should that name be sounded more than
yours?
Write them together, yours is as fair a name;
Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well;
Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with them,
Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Cæsar: [Shout.
Now in the names of all the gods at once,
Upon what meat doth this our Cæsar feed,
That he is grown so great? Age, thou art shamed:
Rome, thou has lost the breed of noble bloods!
When went there by an age, since the great flood,
But it was famed with more than with one man?
When could they say till now, that talked of Rome,
That her wide walks encompassed but one man?
Now is it Rome indeed, and room enough,
When there is in it but one only man.
O! you and I have heard our fathers say,
There was a Brutus once, that would have brooked
The eternal devil to keep his state in Rome,
As easily as a king.
Bru. That you do love me, I am nothing jealous; What you would work me to, I have some aim: How I have thought of this, and of these times, I shall recount hereafter: for this present,
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