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DRAMATIS PERSON^1

JULIUS Cjesar.

OCTAVIUS Cjesar, T m . . _ . ~ . - T ,.

„.„ . „„, ,„,„ 1 Tnumvirs, after the Death of Julius

MARCUS ANTONIUS, >

M. .EMIL. LEPIDUS, J

CICERO, PUBLIUS, POPILIUS LENA; Senators.

MARCUS BRUTUS,

CASSIUS,

CASCA,

TREBONIUS, \ Conspirators against Julius Caesar.

LIGARIUS,

DECIUS BRUTUS,

METELLUS CIMBER,

CINNA,

FLAVIUS and MARULLUS, Tribunes.

ARTEMIDORUS, a Sophist of Cnidos.

A Soothsayer.

CINNA, a Poet.. Another Poet.

LUCILIUS, TITINIUS, MESSALA, young CATO, and VO

LUMNIUS; Friends to Brutus and Cassius. VARRO, CLITUS, CLAUDIUS, STRATO, LUCIUS, DAR

DANIUS; Servants to Brutus.
PINDARUS, Servant to Cassius.

CALPHURNIA, Wife to Caesar.
PORTIA, Wife to Brutus.

Senators, Citizens, Guards, Attendants, &c.

SCENE, during a great part of the Play, at Rome: afterwards at Sardis; and near Philippi.

1 A list of characters was first prefixed by Rowe.

JULIUS CiESAR.

ACT I. SCENE I.

Rome. A Street.

Enter Flavius, Marullus1, and a body 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.

Flav. What trade, thou knave2? thou naughty knave, what trade?

1 — Marullus,] The folios call him Murellus; but it is an obvious error, and Theobald changed it to "Marullus," on the authority of Plutarch. The "Citizens" in the old copies are called Commoners.

* Flav. What trade, thou knave I] We follow the old copy in this and in the next speech but one, by giving the first to Flavius, and the second to MarulIns. Most of the commentators seem to have thought that both should be given to the same person, either both to Flavius or both to Marullus. The necessity for this change does not strike us, because, as Johnson remarks, the object of giving "What trade, thou knave !" &c. to Flavius might be, that he should not stand too long unemployed upon the stage.

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? 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 all5. 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 handywork.

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.

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,

* — but With All.] Printed aithal in the old editions, and without any stop, so that the reading may merely be, * but withal I am indeed, sir, a surgeon to old shoes.''

Have you not made an universal shout,
That Tyber trembled underneath her banks,
To hear the replication of your sounds
Made in her concave 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 Tyber banks, and weep your tears
Into the channel, till the lowest stream
Do kiss the most exalted shores of all.

[Exeunt Citizens.
See, whe'r4 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
Be hung with Caesar'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 Caesar'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.

* See, Whe'r—] Printed where in the old copies, to indicate that it wan to be considered a monosyllable. See Vol. ii. p. 149 ; and Vol. v. p. 173. The folio, 1633, is by no means uniform in this practice.

SCENE II.
The Same. A public Place.

Enter, in Procession, with Music5, Cesar; Antony, for the course; Calphurnia, Portia, Decius, Cicero, Brutus, Cassius, and Casca; a great Crowd following, among them a Soothsat/er.

Cces. Calphurnia,—

Cosca. Peace, ho! Caesar speaks.

[Music ceoses.

Cces. Calphurnia,—

Cal. Here, my lord.

Cces. Stand you directly in Antonius' way, When he doth run his course.—Antonius.

Ant. Caesar, my lord.

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

Ant. I shall remember:

When Caesar says, "Do this," it is perform'd.

Cces. Set on; and leave no ceremony out. [Music.

Sooth. Caesar!

Cces. Ha! Who calls?

Cosca. Bid every noise be still.—Peace yet again!

[Music ceoses.

Cces. Who is it in the press that calls on me?
I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music,
Cry, Caesar! Speak: Caesar is turn'd to hear.

Sooth. Beware the ides of March.

Cces. What man is that?

4 — with Music,] In the old copies nothing is said about music ; but from what follows it is evidently necessary.

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