PERSONS REPRESENTED. Julius Cæsar. Marcus Antonius, M. Æmil. Lepidus, } triumvirs, after the death of Julius Cæsar. Cicero, Publius, Popilius Lena; senators. Marcus Brutus, Cassius, A Soothsayer. Cinna, a poet. Another Poet. Lucilius, Titinius, Messala, young Cato, and Volumnius; friends to Brutus and Cassius. Varro, Clitus, Claudius, Strato, Lucius, Dardanius; servants to Brutus. Pindarus, servánt to Cassius. Calphurnia, wife to Cæsar. 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. JULIUS CÆSAR. ACT I. SCENE I. Rome. A Street. Enter FLAVIUS, MARULLUS, and a Rabble of Citizens. Flavius. HENCE; home, you idle creatures, get you home; 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 cobler. 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 soals. Mar. What trade, thou knave; thou naughty knave, what trade? 2 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 ? 2 Cit. Why, sir, cobble you. Flav. Thou art a cobler, 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 awl. 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? 2 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? 0, you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome, 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 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'r 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.3 Mar. May we do so? 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, 1 Rank. 2 Whether. 3 Honorary ornaments; tokens of respect. VOL. VIII. S [Exeunt. |