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Guards and Attendants.

SCENE, for the three first Ats, at Rome: afterwards, at an Isle near Mutina; at Sardis; and Philippi.




A Street in Rome.

Enter Flavius, Marullus, and certain Commoners,


ENCE; 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 fign your profeffion? fpeak, what trade art thou? Car. Why, Sir, a carpenter.


Mar. Where is thy leather apron, and thy rule? What doft thou with thy beft apparel on? You, Sir, What trade are you?

Cob. Truly, Sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but, as you would fay, a cobler.

Mar. But what trade art thou? anfwer me directly. Cob. A trade, Sir, that, I hope, I may ufe with a fafe confcience; which is, indeed, Sir, a mender of bad foals.

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Flav. What trade, thou knave? thou naughty knave, what trade?

Cob. Nay, I beseech you, Sir, be not out with me: yet if you be out, Sir, I can mend you.

Flav. What mean'ft thou by that? mend me, thou faucy fellow?

Cob. Why, Sir, cobble you.

Flav. Thou art a cobler, art thou?

Cob. Truly, Sir, all, that I live by, is the awl: I meddle with no tradefmen's matters, nor woman's matters; but with-all, I am, indeed, Sir, a furgeon to old fhoes; when they are in great danger, I recover them. As proper men as ever trod upon neatsleather have gone upon my handy-work. Flav. But wherefore are not in thy fhop to day? Why doft thou lead these men about the ftreets?

Cob. Truly, Sir, to wear out their fhoes, to get myself into more work." But, indeed, Sir, we make holiday to fee Cafar, and to rejoice in his triumph.

Mar. Wherefore rejoice! what conqueft brings he home?

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What tributaries follow him to Rome,
To grace in captive bonds his chariot-wheels?
You blocks, you ftones, you worfe than fenfeless 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 fate
The live-long day with patient expectation,
To fee great Pompey pass the streets of Rome:
And when you faw his chariot but appear,
Have you not made an univerfal fhout,
That Tyber trembled underneath his banks
To hear the replication of your founds,
Made in his concave fhores?


And do you now put on your best attire?
And do you now cull out an holiday?
And do you now ftrew flowers in his way,
That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood?
Be gone

Run to your houfes, fall upon your knees,
Pray to the Gods, to intermit the plague,
That needs muft light on this ingratitude.

Flav Go, go, good countrymen, and for that fault Affemble all the poor men of your fort; Draw them to Tyber's bank, and weep your tears Into the channel, 'till the loweft ftream Do kifs the most exalted fhores of all.

[Exeunt Commoners. See, whe're their bafeft mettle be not mov'd; They vanish tongue-ty'd in their guiltinefs. Go you down that way tow'rds the Capitol, This way will I; difrobe the images, If you do find them deck'd with ceremonies.

Mar. May we do fo? You know it is the feaft of Lupercal. Flav. It is no matter, let no images Be hung with Cafar's trophies; I'll about, And drive away the vulgar from the streets: So do you too, where you perceive them thick. Thefe growing feathers, pluckt from Cafar's wing, Will make him fly an ordinary pitch; Who else would foar above the view of men, And keep us all in fervile fearfulness. [Exeunt feverally. -deck'd with ceremonies.] Ceremonies, for religious ornaments. Thus afterwards he explains them by Cafar's trophies; i. e. fuch as he had dedicated to the Gods.


-foar above the view of men,] Paterculus fays of this Cafar, animo fuper humanam & naturam & fidem evectus, which is finely expreffed, if we understand it to fignify that he aspired to a power that was contrary to the rights of nature, and to the duty and good faith he owed his country.


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Enter Cæfar, Antony, for the Course, Calphurnia, Portia, Decius, Cicero, Brutus, Caffius, Cafca, a Soothsayer.

Caf. Calphurnia,

Cafe. Peace, ho! Cæfar fpeaks.
Caf. Calphurnia,


Calp. Here, my lord.

Caf. Stand you directly in Antonius' way, When he doth run his Courfe


Ant. Cæfar, my lord.

Caf. Forget not in your fpeed, Antonius,
To touch Calpburnia; for our Elders say,
The barren, touched in this holy chase,
Shake off their fteril curfe.

Ant. I fhall remember.

When Cæfar fays, do this; it is perform'd.
Caf. Set on, and leave no ceremony out.
Sooth Cafar,

Caf. Ha! who calls?

Cafe Bid every noise be ftill: peace yet again. Caf. Who is it in the Prefs, that calls on me? I hear a tongue, fhriller than all the mufick, Cry, Calar Speak; Cæfar is turn'd to hear. Sooth. Beware the Ides of March.

Cef. What man is that?

Bru. A foothfayer bids you beware the Ides of March.

Caf. Set him before me, let me fee his face.
Caf. Fellow, come from the throng, look upon Cæfar.
Caf. What lay't thou to me now? fpeak once again.
Sooth. Beware the Ides of March.

Caf. He is a dreamer, let us leave him; pass.

[Exeunt Cæfar and Train.


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