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?

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, I am but, as you would say, a cobler.

Mar.

But what trade art thou? 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 soals.

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.

^{3 note}

What meanest thou by that? Mend me, thou saucy fellow?

Cob.

Why, sir, cobble you.

Flav.

Thou art a cobler, art thou?

Cob.

Truly, sir, all that I live by is, with the awl: I meddle with no trade,—man's matters, nor woman's matters, but with awl^{4 note}. 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 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?
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,
Have you not made an universal shout,
That Tyber trembled underneath his banks^{5 note}

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 Commoners.
See, whe'r^{6 note} 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: Disrobe the images,
If you do find them ^{7 note}

Mar.
May we do so?
You know, it is the feast of Lupercal.

Flav.
It is no matter; let no images
Be hung with Cæsar'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 Cæsar'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. SCENE II. The same. Enter Cæsar; Antony, for the course; Calphurnia, Portia, ^{8 note}

Cæs.
Calphurnia,—

Casca.
Peace, ho! Cæsar speaks.

Cæs.
Calphurnia,—

Calp.
Here, my lord.

Cæs.
Stand you directly in Antonius'^{9 note} way,
When he doth run his course.—Antonius.

Ant.
Cæsar, my lord.

Cæs.
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 Cæsar says, Do this, it is perform'd.

Cæs.
Set on; and leave no ceremony out.

Sooth.
Cæsar.

Cæs.
Ha! Who calls?

Casca.
Bid every noise be still:—Peace yet again.

Cæs.
Who is it in the press, that calls on me?
I hear a tongue, shriller than all the musick,
Cry, Cæsar: Speak; Cæsar is turn'd to hear.

Sooth.
Beware the ides of March.

Cæs.
What man is that?

Bru.
A soothsayer, bids you beware the ides of March.

Cæs.
Set him before me, let me see his face.

Cas.

Fellow, come from the throng: Look upon Cæsar.

Cæs.
What say'st thou to me now? Speak once again.

Sooth.
Beware the ides of March.

Cæs.
He is a dreamer; let us leave him:—pass. [^{1 note}

Cas.
Will you go see the order of the course?

Bru.

Not I.

Cas.

I pray you, do.

Bru.
I am not gamesome; I do lack some part
Of that quick spirit that is in Antony.
Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires;
I'll leave you.

Cas.
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 stubborn and too ^{2 note}strange a hand
Over your friend that loves you.

Bru.
Cassius,

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 ^{3 note}

Cas.
Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your passion;
By means whereof, this breast of mine hath bury'd
Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations.
Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face?

Bru.
No, Cassius: for the eye sees not itself^{4 note}

Cas.
'Tis just:
And it is very much lamented, Brutus,
That you have no such mirrors, as will turn
Your hidden worthiness into your eye,
That you might see your shadow. I have heard,
Where many of the best respect in Rome,
(Except immortal Cæsar) speaking of Brutus,

And groaning underneath this age's yoke,
Have wish'd that noble Brutus had his eyes.

Bru.
Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius,
That you would have me seek into myself
For that which is not in me?

Cas.
Therefore, good Brutus, be prepar'd to hear:
And, since you know you cannot see 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
^{2 note}To stale 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. [Flourish, and shout.

Bru.
What means this shouting? I do fear, the people
Choose Cæsar for their king.

Cas.
Ay, do you fear it?
Then must I think you would not have it so.

Bru.
I would not, Cassius; 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,
^{4 note}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.

Cas.
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
In awe of such a thing as I myself.
I was born free as Cæsar; so were you:
We both have fed as well; and we can both
Endure the winter's cold, as well as he.
For once, upon a raw and gusty day,
The troubled Tyber chafing with his shores,
Cæsar said to me, Dar'st thou, Cassius, now
Leap in with me into this angry flood,
And swim to yonder point?—Upon the word,
Accoutred as I was, I plunged in,
And bade him follow: so, indeed, he did.
The torrent roar'd; and we did buffet it
With lusty sinews; throwing it aside,
And stemming it with hearts of controversy.
But ere we could arrive the point propos'd^{7 note}

,
Cæsar cry'd, Help me, Cassius, or I sink.
I, as Æneas, our great ancestor,
Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder
The old Anchises bear, so, from the waves of Tyber
Did I the tired Cæsar: And this man
Is now become a god; and Cassius is
A wretched creature, and must bend his body,
If Cæsar carelessly but nod on him.

He had a fever when he was in Spain,
And, when the fit was on him, I did mark
How he did shake: 'tis true, this god did shake:
^{8 note}His coward lips did from their colour fly;
And that same eye, whose bend doth awe the world,
Did lose his lustre: I did hear him groan:
Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans
Mark him, and write his speeches in their books,
Alas! it cry'd, Give me some drink, Titinius,
As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me,
A man of such a feeble temper should
So ^{9 note}get the start of the majestick world,
And bear the palm alone. [Shout. Flourish.

Bru.
Another general shout!
I do believe, that these applauses are
For some new honours that are heap'd on Cæsar.

Cas.
Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world,
Like a Colossus; and we petty men
Walk under his huge legs, and peep about
To find ourselves dishonourable graves.
Men at some time are masters of their fates:
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings.
Brutus, and Cæsar: What should be in that Cæsar?
Why should that name be sounded more than yours?
Write them together, yours is as fair a name;

Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well^{1 note}



;
Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with them,
Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Cæsar.
Now in the names of all the gods at once,
Upon what meat doth this our Cæsar feed,
That he is grown so great? Age, thou art sham'd:
Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods!
When went there by an age, since the great flood,
But it was fam'd with more than with one man?
When could they say, 'till now, that talk'd of Rome,
That her wide walls^{2 note} incompass'd but one man?
Now is it Rome indeed, and room enough,
When there is in it but one only man.
O! you and I have heard our fathers say,
^{3 note}
There was a Brutus once, that would have brook'd
The ^{4 note}

Bru.
That you do love me, I am nothing jealous;
What you would work me to, I have some aim:
How I have thought of this, and of these times,
I shall recount hereafter; for this present,
I would not, so with love I might intreat you,
Be any further mov'd. What you have said,
I will consider; what you have to say,
I will with patience hear; and find a time

Both meet to hear, and answer, such high things.
'Till then, my noble friend, ^{5 note}chew upon this;
Brutus had rather be a villager,
Than to repute himself a son of Rome
Under such hard^{6 note} conditions as this time
Is like to lay upon us.

Cas.
I am glad, that my weak words
Have struck but thus much shew of fire from Brutus. Re-enter Cæsar, and his train.

Bru.
The games are done, and Cæsar is returning.

Cas.
As they pass by, pluck Casca by the sleeve;
And he will, after his sour fashion, tell you
What hath proceeded, worthy note, to-day.

Bru.
I will do so:—But, look you, Cassius,
The angry spot doth glow on Cæsar's brow,
And all the rest look like a chidden train:
Calphurnia's cheek is pale; and Cicero
Looks with such ^{7 note}ferret and such fiery eyes,
As we have seen him in the Capitol,
Being cross'd in conference by some senators.

Cas.
Casca will tell us what the matter is.

Cæs.
Antonius.

Ant.
Cæsar.

Cæs.
Let me have men about me, that are fat;
Sleek-headed men, and such as sleep o'nights^{8 note}

Yon Cassius has a lean and hungry look;
He thinks too much: such men are dangerous.

Ant.
Fear him not, Cæsar, he's not dangerous;
He is a noble Roman, and well given.

Cæs.
^{9 note}'Would he were fatter:—But I fear him not:
Yet if my name were liable to fear,
I do not know the man I should avoid
So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much;
He is a great observer, and he looks
Quite through the deeds of men: he loves no plays,
As thou dost, Antony; he hears no musick:
Seldom he smiles; and smiles in such a sort,
As if he mock'd himself, and scorn'd his spirit
That could be mov'd to smile at any thing.
Such men as he be never at heart's ease,
Whiles they behold a greater than themselves;
And therefore are they very dangerous.
I rather tell thee what is to be fear'd,
Than what I fear; for always I am Cæsar.
Come on my right hand, for this ear is deaf,
And tell me truly what thou think'st of him. [Exeunt Cæsar, and his train. Manent Brutus and Cassius: Casca to them.

Casca.
You pull'd me by the cloak; Would you speak with me?

Bru.
Ay, Casca; tell us what hath chanc'd to-day,
That Cæsar looks so sad.

Casca.

Why you were with him, were you not?

Bru.

I should not then ask Casca what had chanc'd.

Casca.

Why, there was a crown offer'd him: and being offer'd him, he put it by with the back of his hand, thus; and then the people fell a' shouting.

Bru.

What was the second noise for?

Casca.

Why for that too.

Cas.

They shouted thrice; What was the last cry for?

Casca.

Why for that too.

Bru.

Was the crown offer'd him thrice?

Casca.

Ay, marry, was't, and he put it by thrice, every time gentler than other; and at every putting by, mine honest neighbours shouted.

Cas.

Who offer'd him the crown?

Casca.

Why, Antony.

Bru.

Tell us the manner of it, gentle Casca.

Casca.

I can as well be hang'd, as tell the manner of it: it was meer foolery, I did not mark it. I saw Mark Antony offer him a crown;—yet 'twas not a crown neither, 'twas one of these coronets^{1 note};—and, as I told you, he put it by once: but, for all that, to my thinking, he would fain have had it. Then he offer'd it to him again; then he put it by again: but, to my thinking, he was very loth to lay his fingers off it. And then he offer'd it the third time; he put it the third time by: and still as he refus'd it, the rabblement hooted, and clapp'd their chopt hands, and threw up their sweaty night-caps, and utter'd such a deal of stinking breath because Cæsar refus'd the crown, that it had almost choak'd Cæsar; for he swooned, and fell down at it: And for mine own part, I durst not laugh, for fear of opening my lips, and receiving the bad air.

Cas.

But, soft, I pray you: What? did Cæsar swoon?

Casca.

He fell down in the market-place, and foam'd at mouth, and was speechless.

Bru.
'Tis very like; he hath the falling-sickness.

Cas.
No, Cæsar hath it not; but you, and I,
And honest Casca, we have the falling-sickness.

Casca.

I know not what you mean by that; but, I am sure, Cæsar fell down. If the tag-rag people did not clap him, and hiss him, according as he pleas'd, and displeas'd them, as they use to do the players in the theatre, I am no true man.

Bru.

What said he, when he came unto himself?

Casca.

Marry, before he fell down, when he perceiv'd the common herd was glad he refus'd the crown, he pluck'd me ope his doublet, and offer'd them his throat to cut.—An I had been a ^{2 note}man of any occupation, if I would not have taken him at a word, I would I might go to hell among the rogues:— and so he fell. When he came to himself again, he said, If he had done, or said, any thing amiss, he desir'd their worships to think it was his infirmity. Three or four wenches, where I stood, cry'd, Alas, good soul!—and forgave him with all their hearts: But there's no heed to be taken of them; if Cæsar had stabb'd their mothers, they would have done no less.

Bru.

And after that, he came, thus sad, away?

Casca.

Ay.

Cas.

Did Cicero say any thing?

Casca.

Ay, he spoke Greek.

Cas.

To what effect?

Casca.

Nay, an I tell you that, I'll ne'er look you i' the face again: But those, that understood him, smil'd at one another, and shook their heads: but, for

mine own part, it was Greek to me. I could tell you more news too: Marullus and Flavius, for pulling scarfs off Cæsar's images, are put to silence. Fare you well. There was more foolery yet, if I could remember it.

Cas.

Will you sup with me to-night, Casca?

Casca.

No, I am promis'd forth.

Cas.

Will you dine with me to-morrow?

Casca.

Ay, if I be alive, and your mind hold, and your dinner worth the eating.

Cas.

Good; I will expect you.

Casca.

Do so: Farewel both.

Bru.
What a blunt fellow is this grown to be?
He was quick mettle, when he went to school.

Cas.
So is he now, in execution
Of any bold or noble enterprize,
However he puts on this tardy form.
This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit,
Which gives men stomach to digest his words
With better appetite.

Bru.
And so it is. For this time I will leave you:
To morrow, if you please to speak with me,
I will come home to you; or, if you will,
Come home to me, and I will wait for you.

Cas.
I will do so:—'till then, think of the world. [Exit Brutus.
Well, Brutus, thou art noble: yet, I see,
^{3 note}
Thy honourable metal may be wrought
From that it is dispos'd: Therefore 'tis meet
That noble minds keep ever with their likes:
For who so firm, that cannot be seduc'd?
Cæsar doth bear me hard; but he loves Brutus:

^{4 note}