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Octavius Cæfar.
M. Antony: Triumvirs, after the Death of Julius Cæsar.'
M. Æmil. Lepidus.

Conspirators against Julius Cæsar.
Decius Brutus,
Metellus Cimber,
Popilius Læna,


Tribunes and Enemies to Cæsar.

Friends to Brutus and Cassius,
Artemidorus, a Sophiß of Cnidos,
A Soothsayer.
Young Cato.
Cinna, a Poet.
Another Paet.

Servants of Brutus.
Pindarus, Servant of Caffius.
Ghost of Julius Cæfar.
Other Plebeians,

Calphurnia, Wife to Cæfar.
Porcia, Wife to Brutus.

Guards and Attendants.

SCENE, for the three firf Aets, at Rome : after

wards, at an Isle near Mutina; at Sardis ; and Philippi.



А стІ.

SCENE, a Street in ROME.

Enter Flavius, (1) Marullus, and certain Com


ENCE; home, you idle creatures, get you


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?

Car. 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?

Cob. Truly, Sir, in respect of a fine workman, Iam but, as you would say, a cobler.

Mar. But what trade art chou ? answer me directly.

Cob. A trade, Sir, that, I hope, I may use with a safe conscience; which is, indeed, Sir, a mender of bad foals.

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

(1) Murellus.] I have, upon the Authority of Plutarck, &c. given to this Tribune, his right Name, Marullus.


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

(2) Flav. What mean'st thou by that? mend me, thou sawcy fellow?

Cob. Why, Sir, cobble you.
Flav. Thou art a cobler, art thou?

Cob. Truly, Sir, all, that I live by, is the awl : Í meddle with no tradesman's matters, nor woman's matters; but with-all, I am, indeed, Sir, a surgeon to old shoes; when they are in great danger, I recover them. As proper men as ever trod upon neats-leather have gone upon my handy-work.

Flav. But wherefore art not in thy shop to day? Why dost thou lead these men about the streets?

Cob. Truly, Sir, to wear out their shoes, to get my self into more work. But, indeed, Sir, we make holiday to see Cæfar, 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 senselefs


hard hearts! yoù 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 see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome :
And when you saw his chariot but appear,
Have you not made an universal thout,
That Tyber trembled underneath his banks
To hear the replication of your sounds,
Made in his concave shores?
And do you now put on your best attire?
And do you now cull out an holi-day?

(2) Mar. What means thou by that?] As the Cobler, in the preceding Speech, replies to Flavius, not to Marullus; 'tis plain, I think. this Speech must be given to Flavius.


O you

Be gone

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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 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 bank, and weep your tears
Into the channel, 'till the lowest stream
Do kiss the most exalted shores of all.

[Exeunt Commoners.
See, whe're their baseft mettle be not mov'd;
They vanish tongue-ty'd in their guiltiness.
Go you down that way tow'rds the Capitol,
This way will I ; disrobe the images,

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 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, pluckt from Cæfar's wing,
Will make him fly an ordinary pitch ;
Who else would soar above the view of

And keep us all in servile fearfulness.

[Exeunt severally.
Enter Cæsar, Antony for the Course, Calphurnia, Porcia,
Decius, Cicero, Brutus, Cassius, Casca, a Soothsayer.
Cæf. Calphurnia, -
Casc: Peace, ho! Cæfar speaks.
Cæs. Calphurnia, -
Calp. Here, my lord.

Cel. Stand you directly in Antonius' way,
When he doth run his Course Antonius,

Ant. Cæfar, my lord.

Cef. Forget not in your speed, Antonius,
To touch Calphurnia ; for our Elders say,


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