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SCENE, during a great part of the Play, at Rome; afterwards at Sardis ; and near Philippi.
Flav. Hence; home, you idle creatures, get you home;
1 Cit. Why, Sir, a carpenter.
Mar. Where is thy leather apron, and thy rule 2 What dost thou with thy best apparel on 2–
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. 5. 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. Mar. What trade, thou knave P 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 mean'st thou by that P Mend me, thou saucy fellow P 10. 2 Cit. Why, Sir, cobble you. Flav. Thou art a cobbler, art thou? 2 Cit. Truly, Sir, all that I live by is, with the awl : Imed. dle 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 meat'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 Caesar, and to rejoice in his triumph. 15. 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 P. 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, 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 P 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; Run to your houses, fall upon your knees, Pray to the gods to intermit the plague That needs must light on this ingratitude. Flav. Go, go, good countrymen, and, for this fault,
Assemble all the poor men of your sort;
SCENE II.-The same. A Public Place.
IEnter, in Procession with Music, CESAR ; ANToNY, for the course; CALPHURNIA, PoETIA, DECIUs, CICERo, BRUTUs, CASSIUS, and CASCA, a great crowd following, among them a SootBSAYER.
2O. Casca. Peace, ho! Caesar speaks. [Music ceases.
Cal. Here, my lord.
Caes. Stand you directly in Antonius' way, When he doth run his course.—Antonius.
Ant. Caesar, my lord.
25. Caes. Forget not, in your speed, Antonius,
To touch Calphurnia: for our elders say,
30 Casca. Bid every noise be still:—Peace yet again.
[Music ceases. Caes. Who is it in the press that calls on me? I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music, Cry, Caesar. Speak; Caesar is turned to hear. Sooth. Beware the ides of March.
Caes. What man is that? Bru. A soothsayer, bids you beware the ides of March. 35. Caes. Set him before me, let me see his face. Cas. Fellow, come from the throng : Look upon Cæsar, Caes. What say'st thou to me now? Speak once again. Sooth. Beware the ides of March. Caes. He is a dreamer: let us leave him;-pass. [Sennet. Ereunt all but BRUTUs and CASSITs 40. Cas. Will you go see the order of the course 2 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. 45. Bru. Cassius, Be not deceived: if I have veiled my look, I turn the trouble of my countenance Merely upon myself. Vexed I am, Of late, with passions of some difference, 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 eye, That you might see your shadow. I have heard, Where many of the best respect in Rome (Except immortal Caesar), speaking of Brutus, And groaning underneath this age's yoke, Haye wished that noble Brutus had his eyes. Bru. Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius,