« PreviousContinue »
ROME. A STREET.
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,
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 cobler.
Mar. But what trade art thou? Answer me di
2 Cit. A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use with a safe conscience; which is, indeed, sir, a mender of bad soals.
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 cobler, 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 handywork.
Flao. 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?
O, you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome,
Have you not made an universal shout,
Made in her concave shores?
And do you now put on your best attire?
Run to your houses, fall upon your knees,
Flav. Go, go, good countrymen, and, for this
Assemble all the poor men of your sort;
Draw them to Tiber banks, and weep your tears
Do kiss the most exalted shores of all.
See, whe'r their basest metal be not mov'd;
If you do find them deck'd with ceremonies.
You know, it is the feast of Lupercal.
Flav. It is no matter; let no images
Who else would soar above the view of men,
And keep us all in servile fearfulness.
THE SAME. A PUBLIC PLACE.
Enter, in procession, with musick, Cæsar; Antony, for the course; Calphurnia, Portia, Decius, Cicero, Brutus, Cassius, and Cusca, a great crowd following; among them a soothsayer.
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, touched in this holy chase, Shake off their steril curse.
I shall remember:
When Cæsar says, Do this, it is perform'd.
Cæs. Ha! Who calls?
Casca. Bid every noise be still:-Peace yet again.
Cas. Who is it in the press, that calls on me? I hear a tongue, shriller than all the musick, Cry, Cæsar: Speak; Cæsar is turn'd to hear. Sooth. Beware the ides of March.
What man is that?
Bru. A soothsayer, bids you beware the ides of
Cas. Set him before me, let me see his face.
Cas. 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.
Cas. I pray you, do.
Bru. I am not gamesome: I do lack some part Of that quick spirit that is in Antony.
Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires;
I'll leave you.
Cas. Brutus, I do observe you now of late:
Be not deceiv'd: If I have veil'd my look,