JULIUS CAESAR.

A C T I.

SCENE I.

ROME.

Enter Flavius, Murellus, and certain Commoners."

H

ENCE; 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 fign Of your profeffion? fpeak what trade art thou?

Car. Why Sir, a carpenter.

Mur. Where is thy feather apron, and thy rule! What doft thou with thy beft apparel on?

You Sir, What trade are you?

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Cob. Truly Sir, in refpect of a'fine workman I am but as you would fay, a cobler.

Mur. But what trade art thou? answer me directly. Cob. A trade, Sir, that I hope I may ufe with a fafe confcience, which is indeed, Sir, a mender of bad foals,

Flays

Flav. What trade, thou knave? thou naughty knave what trade?

Cob. Nay, I befeech you, Sir, be not out with me: yer if you be out, Sir, I can mend you.

Mur. What mean if thou by that? mend me, thou fawey fellow)

Cob. Why, Sir, cobble you.

Flav. Thou art a cobler, art thou?

Cab. Truly Sir, all that I live by, is the awl: f meddle with no tradefman's matters, nor woman's matters; but with-all, I am indeed, Sir, a furgeon to old fhoes; 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 fhop to-day? Why doft thou fead thefe men about the ftreets?

Cob. Truly Sir, to wear out their fhoes, to get my felf into more work. But indeed, Sir, we make holyday to fee Cafar, and to rojoice in his triumph. Mur. Wherefore rejoice!

he home?

what conquefts brings

What tributaries follow him to Rome,

To grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels?
You blocks, you ftones, you worfe than fenfelefs
things for

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 fate
The live-long day with patient expectation,
To fee great Pompey pass 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 beft attire.
And do you now cull out an holy-day?
And do you now ftrew flowers in his way,

That

That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood?

Be gone

Run to your houfes, 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 this fault Affemble all the poor men of your fort,

Draw them to Tyber bank, and weep your tears
Into the channel, 'till the loweft ftream.
Do kifs the moft exalted fhores of all.

[Exeunt Commoners
See where their basest mettle be not mov'd,
They vanish'd tongue-ty'd in their guiltinefs.
Go you down that way tow'rds the capitol,
This way
will I; difrobe the images,
If you do find them deck'd with ceremonies.
Mur. May we do fo!!

You know it is the feast 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:
So do you too, where you perceive them thick.
Thefe growing feathers pluckt from Cafar's wing
Will make him fly an ordinary pitch,

Who else would foar above the view of men,
And keep us all in fervile fearfulness.

SCENE II.

[Exeunt.

Enter Cæfar, Antony for the Course, Calphurnia, Portia, Decius, Cicero, Brutus, Caffius, Cafea, a Soothfayer; after them Murellus and Flavius.

Caf. Calpburnia.

Caft. Feace ho, Cafar speaks,

Caf. Calphurnia.

Calp. Here, my lord.

Caf. Stand you directly in Antonius' way,

When he doth run his courfe

Ant. Cafar, my lord.

Antonius.

Cef. Forget not in your speed, Antonius,

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To touch Calphurnia; for our elders fay,
The barren touched in this holy chafe,
Shake off their fteril courfe.

Ant. I fhall remember.

When Cafar fays, do this; it is perform'd.
Caf. Set on, and leave no ceremony out.
Sooth. Cafar

Caf. Ha! who calls?

Cafc. Bid every noife be ftill; peace yet again.
Caf. Who is it in the prefs that calls on me?
I hear a tongue fhriller than all the mufick,
Cry, Cafar. Speak; Cafar is turn'd to hear.
Sooth. Beware the ides of March.

Caf. What man is that?

Bru. A footh-fayer bids you beware the ides of
March.

Caf. Set him before me, let me fee his face.
Caf. Fellow, come from the throng, look upon
Cafar.

Caf. What fay't thou to me now? fpeak once again.
Sooth, Beware the ides of March.

Caf. He is a dreamer, let us leave him; pafs.

[Exeunt. Manent Brutus and Caffiusį

SCENE III.

Caf. Will you go fee the order of the course?

Bru. Not 1.

Caf. I pray you do.

Bru. I am not gamefom; I do lack fome part
Of that quick fpirit that is in Antony:

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

Caf. Brutus, I do obferve you now of late;
I have not from your eyes that gentleness
And fhew of love, as I was wont to have;
You bear too ftubborn and too ftrange a hand
Over your friends that love you.

Bru. Caffius,
Be not deceiv'd: if I have veil'd my look,

I turn the trouble of my countenance
Meerly upon my felf. Vexed I am
Of late, with paffions of fome difference,
Conceptions only proper to my felf,

Which give fome foil, perhaps, to my behaviour
But let not therefore my good friends be griev'd,
Among which number Caffius be you one,
Nor conftrue any farther 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 it self,
But by reflection from fome other things.
Caf. 'Tis juft.

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 Cafar) fpeaking of Brutus,
And groaning underneath this age's yoak,
Have wish'd that noble Brutus had his eyes.

Bru. Into what dangers would you lead me, Caffius,
That you would have me feek into my self,
For that which is not in me?

Caf. Therefore, good Brutus, be prepar'd to hear: And fince you know you cannot fee

your felf So well as by reflection; I, your glafs,

Will modeftly difcover to your felf

That of your felf, which yet you know not of.
And be not jealous of me, gentle Brutus :
Were I a common laugher, or did ufe
To ftale with ordinary oaths my love.
To every new proteftor; if you know
That I do fawn on men, and hug them hard,
And after fcandal them; or if you know
That I profefs my felf in banqueting

VOL. VI.

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