Shall make their harbour in our town, till we
Have seal'd thy full desire.

Alcib.
Then there's my glove;
Descend, and open your uncharged ports:
Those enemies of Timon's and mine own
Whom you yourselves shall set out for reproof
Fall and no more: and, to atone your fears
With my more noble meaning, not a man
Shall pass this quarter, or offend the stream
Of regular justice in your city's bounds,
But shall be render'd to your public laws
At heaviest answer.

Both.

"Tis most nobly spoken.

Alcib. Descend, and keep your words.

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[The Senators descend, and open the gates. Enter Soldier.

Sold. My noble general, Timon is dead;

Entomb'd upon the very hem o' the sea;

And on his grave-stone this insculpture, which
With wax I brought away, whose soft impression
Interprets for my poor ignorance.

Alcib. [Reads the epitaph] "Here lies a wretched corse, of wretched soul bereft:

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Seek not my name: a plague consume you wicked caitiffs

left!

Here lie I, Timon; who, alive, all living men did hate: Pass by and curse thy fill, but pass and stay not here thy gait."

These well express in thee thy latter spirits:

Though thou abhorr'dst in us our human griefs,

Scorn'dst our brain's flow and those our droplets which

From niggard nature fall, yet rich conceit

Taught thee to make vast Neptune weep for aye

On thy low grave, on faults forgiven. Dead

Is noble Timon: of whose memory

Hereafter more. Bring me into your city,
And I will use the olive with my sword,

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Make war breed peace, make peace stint war, make each
Prescribe to other as each other's leech.
Let our drums strike.

[Exeunt.

SCENE: Rome: the neighbourhood of Sardis: the neighbourhood of Philippi.

ACT I.

SCENE I. Rome. A street.

Enter FLAVIUS, MARULLUS, and certain Commoners.

Flar. 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?

First Com. Why, sir, a carpenter.

Mar. Where is thy leather apron and thy rule?

What dost thou with thy best apparel on?

You, sir, what trade are you?

Sec. Com. 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.

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Sec. Com. 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?

Sec. Com. 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!

Sec. Com. Why, sir, cobble you.
Flav. Thou art a cobbler, art thou?

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Sec. Com. 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 recover them. As proper men as ever trod upon neat's 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?

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Sec. Com. 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?

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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 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!

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JULIUS CÆSAR.

Run to your houses, fall upon your knees,
Pray to the gods to intermit the plague
That needs must light on this ingratitude.

[ACT I.

Flav. Go, go, good conntrymen, 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.

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See, whether their basest metal be not moved;
They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness.
Go you down that way towards the Capitol;
This way will I: disrobe the images,

[Exeunt all the Commoners.

If you do find them deck'd 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 pluck'd 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.

SCENE II. A public place.

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[Exeunt. 80

Flourish. Enter CÆSAR; ANTONY, for the course; CALPURNIA, PORTIA, DECIUS, CICERO, BRUTUS, CASSIUS, and CASCA; a great crowd following, among them a Soothsayer.

Cas. Calpurnia!

Casca.

Peace, ho! Cæsar speaks.

Cæs.

Cal. Here, my lord.

Cas. Stand you directly in Antonius' way,

When he doth run his course.

Ant. Cæsar, my lord?

Antonius!

Cres. Forget not, in your speed, Antonius,
To touch Calpurnia; for our elders say,
The barren, touched in this holy chase,

Shake off their sterile curse.

Ant.

When Cæsar says

Calpurnia!

I shall remember:

"do this," it is perform'd.

Ces. Set on; and leave no ceremony out.

Sooth. Cresar!

Cao, Ha! who calls?

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[Flourish.

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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 music, Cry Cæsar!" Speak; Cæsar is turn'd to hear. Sooth. Beware the ides of March. Cœs. What man is that? 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 ('æsar. Caes. What say'st thou to me now? speak once again. Sooth. Beware the ides of March.

Cas. He is a dreamer; let us leave him: pass.

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[Sennet. Exeunt all except 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:
I have not from your eyes that gentleness
And show of love as I was wont to have:
You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand
Over your friend that loves you.

Bru.

Cassius,

Be not deceived: if I have veil'd my look,
I turn the trouble of my countenance

Merely upon myself. Vexed I am

Of late with passions of some difference,

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Conceptions only proper to myself,

Which give some soil perhaps to my behaviours;

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.
Cas. 'Tis just:

And it is very much lamented, Brutus,
That you have no such mirrors as will turn

Your hidden worthiness into your øye,

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