FLAVIUS and MARULLUS, tribunes. ARTEMIDORUS, a sophist of Cnidos. A Soothsayer. CINNA, a poet. Another Poet. SCENE I.-Rome. A Street. Enter FLAVIUS, MARULLUS, and a rabble of Flav. Hence; home, you idle creatures, get you home; Is this a holiday? What! know you not, Of your profession ?-Speak, what trade art thou? Mar. Where is thy leather apron, and thy rule? What dost thou with thy best apparel on?You, sir; what trade are you? 2 Cit. 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. 2 Cit. A trade, sir, that I hope I may use with a safe conscience; which is, indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles. Flav. 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 cobbler, art thou? VI. A 2 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 all. 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? 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, And do you now put on your best attire? And do you now cull out a holiday? Run to your houses, fall upon your knees, 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 Tiber banks, and weep your tears Into the channel, till the lowest stream Do kiss the most exalted shores of all. [Exit Citizens. See, whe'r their basest metal be not mov'd; 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 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 Who else would soar above the view of men, [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. Cæs. Cal. Here, my lord. Peace, ho! Cæsar speaks. [Music ceases. 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, Ant. Sooth. Cæsar. Cæs. Ha! Who calls? [Music. Cas. Bid every noise be still :-Peace yet again. [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 turn'd to hear. Sooth. Beware the ides of March. Cæs. Bru. A soothsayer bids you beware the ides of March, What man is that?. Cas. Set him before me; let me see his face. 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 BRU. and CAS. 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: Bru. Cassius, Be not deceiv'd: 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, Which give some soil, perhaps, to my behaviours: Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war, Cas. Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your passion; By means whereof this breast of mine hath buried Cas. 'T is just : And it is very much lamented, Brutus, 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 wish'd that noble Brutus had his eyes. Bru. Into what dangers would you lead me, That you would have me seek into myself |