JULIUS CESAR. ACT I. SCENE I. Rome. A street. Enter FLAVIUS, MARULLUS,(1) and a rabble of Citizens. Flav. Hence! home, you idle creatures, get you home: Of your profession ?-Speak, what trade art thou? Mar. Where is thy leather apron and thy rule? You, sir, what trade are you? Sec. 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. First Cit. A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use with a safe conscience; which is, indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles. Mar.(2) What trade, thou knave? thou naughty knave, what trade? Sec. 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! Sec. Cit. Why, sir, cobble you. Flav. Thou art a cobbler, art thou? Sec. 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? Sec. 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! And do you now put on your best attire? 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 [Exeunt Citizens. They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness. 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, And keep us all in servile fearfulness. [Exeunt. SCENE II. The same. A public place. Enter, in procession, with music, CESAR; ANTONY, for the course; CALPHURNIA, PORTIA, DECIUS, CICERO, BRUTUS, CASSIUS, and CASCA; a great crowd following, among them a Soothsayer. Cæs. Stand you directly in Antonius'(3) way, When he doth run his course.-Antonius. Ant. Cæsar, my lord? Cæs. Forget not, in your speed, Antonius, Ant. I shall remember: When Cæsar says, "Do this," it is perform'd. Cæs. Set on; and leave no ceremony out. Caes. Ha! who calls? [Music. |