Enter FLAVIUS, MARULLUS, and certain Commoners.

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?

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 10

you would say, a cobbler.

MAR. But what trade art thou? answer me directly..

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? 15 SEC. COм. 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. COм. Why, sir, cobble you.

FLAV. Thou art a cobbler, art thou?

SEC. COм. 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 trode 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?

SEC. COм. 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.

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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,

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To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome :
And when you saw his chariot but appear,
Have you not made an universal shout,

Assemble all the poor men of your sort;

FLAV. Go, go, good countrymen, and, for this fault,

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Draw them to Tiber banks, and weep your tears

Into the channel, till the lowest stream

Do kiss the most exalted shores of all. [Exeunt all the Commoners,

See, whether their basest metal be not moved;

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They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness.
Go you down that way towards the Capitol;
This way will I disrobe the images,

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.

SCENE II. A public place.

[Exeunt.

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

CASCA. Bid every noise be still peace yet again!
CES. 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.

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[Flourish.

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SOOTH. Beware the ides of March.

CES.

What man is that?
BRU. A soothsayer bids you beware the ides of March.
CES. Set him before me; let me see his face.
CAS. Fellow, come from the throng; look upon Cæsar.
CES. What say'st thou to me now? speak once again.
SOOTH. Beware the ides of March.

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

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[Sennet. Exeunt all but BRUTUS and CASSIUS.

CAS. Will you go see the order of the course?

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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.

CAS. Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your passion;

By means whereof this breast of mine hath buried

Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations.

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Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face?
BRU. No, Cassius; for the eye sees not itself,

That you might see your shadow. I have heard,
Where many of the best respect in Rome,

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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?

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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 on 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.

BRU. What means this shouting? I do fear, the people Choose Cæsar for their king.

Ay, do you fear it?

CAS.
Then must I think you would not have it so.

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BRU. I would not, Cassius; yet I love him well. But wherefore do you hold me here so long?