SCENE I.-ROME. A Street.

Enter FLAVIUS, MARULLUS, and a rabble of Citizens. 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?
1 Cit. 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?

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. Mar. 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?

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 awl. I am, indeed, sir, a surgeon to old shoes; when they are in great danger, I re-cover them. As proper men as ever trod upon neats-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?

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 cancave 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!

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;
Draw them to Tiber banks, and weep your tears
Into the channel, till the lowest stream
Do kiss the most exalted shores of all.
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

[Exeunt Citizens.

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.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.-ROME. 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.

Caes. Calphurnia,

Casca.

Cæs.

Peace, ho! Cæsar speaks.

Cal. Here, my lord.
When he doth run his course. -Antonius.
Cas. Stand you directly in Antonius' way
Ant. Cæsar, my lord.

Caes. Forget not, in your speed, Antonius,
To touch Calphurnia; for our elders say,
The barren, touched in this holy chase,
Shake off their sterile curse.

Ant.

[Music ceases. Čalphurnia,

I shall remember:

When Cæsar says, Do this, it is perform'd.
Cas. Set on; and leave no ceremony out.

Sooth. Cæsar!

Cas. Ha! Who calls?

Casca. Bid every noise be still.--Peace yet again.

[Music.

[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.

Сӕв.

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

Cæsar.

Cas. What say'st thou to me now? speak once again.
Sooth. Beware the ides of March.

Cas. 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.

How he did shake: 'tis true, this god did shake:
His coward lips did from their colour fly;

And that same eye, whose bend doth awe the world,
Did lose his lustre: I did hear him groan:

Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans
Mark him, and write his speeches in their books,
Alas! it cried, Give me some drink, Titinius,
As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me,
A man of such a feeble temper should
So get the start of the majestic world,
And bear the palm alone.

Bru. Another general shout!

I do believe that these applauses are

[Shout: flourish.

For some new honours that are heap'd on Cæsar.

Cas. Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world Like a Colossus; and we petty men

Walk under his huge legs, and peep about

To find ourselves dishonourable

graves.
Men at some time are masters of their fates:
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings.

Brutus and Cæsar: what should be in that Cæsar?
Why should that name be sounded more than yours?
Write them together, yours is as fair a name;
Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well;
Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with 'em,
Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Cæsar.
Now, in the names of all the gods at once,
Upon what meat doth this our Cæsar feed,
That he is grown so great? Age, thou art sham'd!
Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods!
When went there by an age, since the great flood,
But it was fam'd with more than with one man?
When could they say, till now, that talk'd of Rome,
That her wide walls encompass'd but one man?
Now is it Rome indeed, and room enough,
When there is in it but one only man.

O! you and I have heard our fathers say,
There was a Brutus once that would have brook'd
The eternal devil to keep his state in Rome
As easily as a king.

Bru. That you do love me, I am nothing jealous;
What you would work me to, I have some aim:
How I have thought of this, and of these times,
I shall recount hereafter; for this present,
I would not, so with love I might entreat you,

[Shout.

Be any further mov'd. What you have said
I will consider; what you have to say
I will with patience hear: and find a time
Both meet to hear and answer such high things.
Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this;
Brutus had rather be a villager

Than to repute himself a son of Rome
Under these hard conditions as this time

Is like to lay upon us.

Cas. I am

Have struck but thus much show of fire from Brutus.
glad that my weak words
Bru. The games are done, and Cæsar is returning.
Cas. As they pass by, pluck Casca by the sleeve;
And he will, after his sour fashion, tell you
What hath proceeded worthy note to-day.

Re-enter CESAR and his Train..

Bru. I will do so. But, look you, Cassius,.
The angry spot doth glow on Cæsar's brow,
And all the rest look like a chidden train:
Calphurnia's cheek is pale; and Cicero
Looks with such ferret and such fiery eyes
As we have seen him in the Capitol,
Being cross'd in conference by some senators..
Cas. Casca will tell us what the matter is.

Cæs. Antonius.

Ant. Cæsar?

Cæs. Let me have men about me that are fat; Sleek-headed men, and such as sleep o' nights: Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look; He thinks too much: such men are dangerous. Ant. Fear him not, Cæsar, he's not dangerous; He is a noble Roman, and well given.

Cas. Would he were fatter!-But I fear him not: Yet if my name were liable to fear, I do not know the man I should avoid So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much; He is a great observer, and he looks

no plays,

As thou dost, Antony; he hears no music:
Seldom he smiles; and smiles in such a sort
As if he mock'd himself, and scorn'd his spirit
That could be mov'd to smile at anything.
Such men as he be never at heart's ease
Whiles they behold a greater than themselves;
And therefore are they very dangerous.