Flav. Thou art a cobler, art thou?
Cob. Truly, fir, all that I live by is, with the awl: I meddle with no trade, man's matters, nor woman's matters, but with awl. I am indeed, fir, a furgeon to old shoes; 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 art not in thy shop to-day? Why dost thou lead these mern about the streets?
Cob. Truly, fir, to wear out their shoes, to get myself into more work. But, indeed, fir, we make holiday, to fee Cæfar, and to rejoice in his triumph. Mar. Wherefore rejoice? what conquest brings he What tributaries follow him to Rome, [home? To grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels? You blocks, you ftones, 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 fat The live-long day, with patient expectation, To fee great Pompey pass the streets of Rome: And when you saw his chariot but appear, Have you not made an universal shout, That Tyber trembled underneath his banks, To hear the replication of your founds Made in his 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?
Run to your houses, 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, Affemble all the poor men of your fort; Draw them to Tyber 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-ty'd in their guiltiness. Go you down that way towards the Capitol; This way will I: Difrobe the images, If you do find them deck'd with ceremonies.
[Exeunt Commoners.
Mar. May we do so?
You know, it is the feast of Lupercal.
Flav. It is no matter; let no images Be hung with Cæfar'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 Cæfar's wing, Will make him fly an ordinary pitch;
Who elfe would foar above the view of man,
And keep us all in servile fearfulness.
SCENE II. The fame.
Enter CÆSAR, ANTONY, for the Course; CALPHURNIA, PORTIA, DECIUS, CICERO, BRUTUS, CAS
SIUS, CASCA, a Soothfayer, &c.
Caf. Calphurnia,
Cafca. Peace, ho! Cæfar speaks.
Caf. Calphurnia,
Calph. Here, my lord.
Caf. Stand you directly in Antonius' way,
When he doth run his course.
Caf. Forget not, in your speed, Antonius,
To touch Calphurnia: for our elders fay, The barren, touched in this holy chase, Shake off their steril curse.
Ant. I shall remember :
When Cæfar says, Do this, it is perform'd. Caf. Set on, and leave no ceremony out. Sooth. Cæfar.
Caf. Ha! who calls?
Cafca. Bid every noise be still :-Peace yet again. Caf. Who is it in the press, that calls on me?
I heard a tongue, shriller than all the mufic, Cry, Cæfar: Speak; Cæfar is turn'd to hear. Sooth. Beware the ides of March. Caf. What man is that?
Bru. A foothsayer, bids you beware of the ides of
Caf. Set him before me, let me fee his face. Caf. Fellow, come from the throng: Look upon
Caf. What say'st thou to me now? Speak once again. Sooth. Beware the ides of March.
Caf. He is a dreamer; let us leave him:-pass. [Sennet. Exeunt CÆSAR, and Train.
Caf. Will you go fee the order of the course? Bru. Not I.
Bru. I am not gamesome; I do lack fome part
Of that quick spirit that is in Antony. Let me not hinder, Caffius, your defires;
Caf. Brutus, I do observe you now of late : I have not from your eyes that gentleness, And shew of love, as I was wont to have : You bear too ftubborn and too strange a hand
Over your friend that loves you.
Be not deceiv'd: If I have veil'd my look, I turn the trouble of my countenance Merely upon myself. Vexed I am, Of late, with passions of fome difference, Conceptions only proper to myself,
Which give fome foil, perhaps, to my behaviours: ☐ But let not therefore my good friends be griev'd ☐ (Among which number, Caffius, be you one); Nor conftrue any further my neglect, Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war, Forgets the shews of love to other men.
Caf. Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your
paflion; By means whereof, this breast of mine hath bury'd Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations. Tell me, good Brutus, can you fee your face? Bru. No, Caffius: for the eye fees not itself, But by reflection, by some other things.
Caf. 'Tis juft: And it is very much lamented, Brutus, That you have no fuch mirrors, as will turn Your hidden worthiness into your eye, That you might fee your shadow. I have heard, Where many of the best respect in Rome (Except immortal Cæfar), speaking of Brutus, And groaning underneath this age's yoke, Have with'd that noble Brutus had his eyes.
Bru. Into what dangers would you lead me, Caffius,
That you would have me feek into myself For that which is not in me?
Caf. Therefore, good Brutus, be prepar'd to hear:
And, fince you know you cannot fee yourself So well as by reflection, I, your glass, Will modestly discover to yourself
That of yourself which yet you know not of. And be not jealous of me, gentle Brutus: Were I a common laugher, or did use To ftale with ordinary oaths my love To every new protester; if you know That I do fawn on men, and hug them hard, And after scandal them; or if you know That I profess myself in banqueting
To all the rout, then hold me dangerous.
Bru. What means this shouting? I do fear, the
Choose Cæfar for their king.
Caf. Ay, do thou fear it?
Then must I think you would not have it fo.
Bru. I would not, Caffius; yet I love him well:--
But wherefore do you hold me here so long? What is it that you would impart to me? If it be ought toward the general good, Set honour in one eye, and death i' the other, And I will look on both indifferently: For, let the gods so speed me, as I love The name of honour more than I fear death. Caf. I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus, As well as I do know your outward favour. Well, honour is the subject of my story.- I cannot tell, what you and other men Think of this life; but, for my single self, I had as lief not be, as live to be
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