Flavius.
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.

Mur.
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.

Mur.

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.

Mur.

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: I meddle with no tradesman's matters, nor woman's matters; but withall, 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 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 shooes, to get my self into more work. But indeed, Sir, we make holy-day to see Cæsar, and to rejoice in his triumph.

Mur.
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 sate
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
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 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 bank, and weep your tears
Into the channel, 'till the lowest stream
Do kiss the most exalted shores of all. [Exeunt Commoners.
See where their basest mettle be not mov'd,
They vanish'd tongue-ty'd in their guiltiness.
Go you down that way tow'rds the capitol,
This way will I; disrobe the images,
If you do find them deck'd with ceremonies.

Mur.
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 pluckt 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. Enter Cæsar, Antony for the Course, Calphurnia, Portia, Decius, Cicero, Brutus, Cassius, Casca, a Soothsayer; after them Murellus and Flavius.

Cæs.
Calphurnia.

Casc.
Peace ho, Cæsar speaks.

Cæs.
Calphurnia.

Calp.
Here, my lord.

Cæs.
Stand you directly in Antonius' 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 course.

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?

Casc.
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 sooth-sayer 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. [Exeunt. Manent Brutus and Cassius. SCENE III.

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

Bru.
Not I.

Cas.
I pray you do.

Bru.
I am not gamesom; 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 strange a hand
Over your friends that love you.

Bru.
Cassius,
Be not deceiv'd: if I have veil'd my look,
I turn the trouble of my countenance
Meerly upon my self. Vexed I am
Of late, with passions of some difference,
Conceptions only proper to my self,
Which give some soil, perhaps, to my behaviour:
But let not therefore my good friends be griev'd,
Among which number Cassius be you one,
Nor construe any further my neglect,
Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war,
Forgets the shews of love to other men.

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

Bru.
No, Cassius; for the eye sees not it self,
But by reflection from some other things.

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 yoak,
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 my self,
For that which is not in me?

Cas.
Therefore, good Brutus, be prepar'd to hear:
And since you know you cannot see your self
So well as by reflection; I, your glass,
Will modestly discover to your self
That of your self, which yet you know not of.
And be not jealous of me, gentle Brutus:
Were I a common laugher, or did use
To stale with ordinary oaths my love
To every new protestor; if you know
That I do fawn on men, and hug them hard,
And after scandal them; or if you know,
That I profess my self in banqueting
To all the rout, then hold me dangerous. [Flourish and shout.

Bru.
What means this shouting? I do fear, the people
Chuse 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'th' 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.

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 my self.
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 chasing with his shores,
Cæsar says 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 bad 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 controversie.
But ere we could arrive the point propos'd,
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 carelesly but nod on him.
He had a feaver 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,
His coward lips did from their colour fly,
And that same eye, whose bend doth awe the world,
Did lose its lustre; I did hear him groan:
Ay, and that tongue of his that bad 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 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.

&plquo;Cas.
&plquo;Why man, he doth bestride the narrow world
&plquo;Like a Colossus, and we petty men
&plquo;Walk under his huge legs, and peep about,
&plquo;To find our selves dishonourable graves.
&plquo;Men at some times are masters of their fates:
&plquo;The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
&plquo;But in our selves, that we are underlings.
&plquo;Brutus, and Cæsar! what should be in that Cæsar?
&plquo;Why should that name be sounded more than yours?
&plquo;Write them together; yours is as fair a name;
&plquo;Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well;
&plquo;Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with 'em,
&plquo;Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Cæsar.
&plquo;Now in the names of all the Gods at once,
&plquo;Upon what meat doth this our Cæsar feed,

&plquo;That he is grown so great? Age, thou art sham'd;
&plquo;Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods.
&plquo;When went there by an age, since the great flood,
&plquo;But it was fam'd with more than with one man?
&plquo;When could they say, 'till now, that talk'd of Rome,
&plquo;That her wide walls incompast but one man?* ^note




O! you and I have heard our fathers say,
There was a Brutus once, that would have brook'd
Th'eternal devil to keep his state in Rome,
As easily as a King.

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, chew upon this;
Brutus had rather be a villager,
Than to repute himself a son of Rome
Under such hard 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.

SCENE IV. 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 ferret, and such fiery eyes,
As we have seen him in the Capitol,
Being crost in conf'rence with 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 a-nights:
Yond 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.
Would he were fatter; but I fear him not:
&plquo;Yet if my name were liable to fear,
&plquo;I do not know the man I should avoid,
&plquo;So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much,
&plquo;He is a great observer, and he looks
&plquo;Quite through the deeds of men. He loves no plays,
&plquo;As thou dost, Antony; he hears no musick:
&plquo;Seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a sort
&plquo;As if he mock'd himself, and scorn'd his spirit

&plquo;That could be mov'd to smile at any thing.
&plquo;Such men as he be never at hearts ease,
&plquo;Whilst they behold a greater than themselves,
&plquo;And therefore are they very dangerous.
&plquo;I rather tell thee what is to be fear'd,
&plquo;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. SCENE V.

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; 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 offered 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 offered it the third time; he put it the third time by; and still as he refus'd it, the rabblement houted, and clapp'd their chopt hands, and threw up their sweaty night-caps, and uttered such a deal of stinking breath, because Cæsar refus'd the crown, that it had almost choaked 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 pluckt me ope his doublet, and offer'd them his throat to cut: If I had been a 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, if I tell you that, I'll ne'er look you i'th' 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: Murellus 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 be 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 sawce to his good wit,
Which gives men stomach to digest his words
With better appetites.

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
Thy honourable mettle may be wrought
From what 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.
If I were Brutus now, and he were Cassius,
He should not humour me.—I will this night,
In several hands, in at his windows throw,
As if they came from several citizens,
Writings, all tending to the great opinion
That Rome holds of his name. Wherein obscurely
Cæsar's ambition shall be glanced at.
And after this, let Cæsar seat him sure,
For we will shake him, or worse days endure. [Exit. SCENE VI. Thunder and lightning. Enter Casca, his sword drawn, and Cicero.

Cic.
Good even, Casca; brought you Cæsar home?
Why are you breathless, and why stare you so?

Casc.
Are not you mov'd, when all the sway of earth
Shakes like a thing unfirm? O Cicero!
I have seen tempests, when the scolding winds
Have riv'd the knotty oaks, and I have seen
Th' ambitious ocean swell, and rage, and foam,
To be exalted with the threatning clouds:
But never 'till to-night, never 'till now,
Did I go through a tempest dropping fire.
Either there is a civil strife in heav'n,

Or else the world, too saucy with the Gods,
Incenses them to send destruction.

Cic.
Why, saw you any thing more wonderful?

Casc.
A common slave, you know him well by sight,
Held up his left hand, which did flame and burn,
Like twenty torches join'd; and yet his hand,
Not sensible of fire, remain'd unscorch'd.
Besides, (I ha' not since put up my sword)
Against the Capitol I met a lion,
Who glar'd upon me, and went surly by,
Without annoying me. And there were drawn
Upon a heap, a hundred gastly women
Transformed with their fear, who swore they saw
Men, all in fire, walk up and down the streets.
And yesterday, the bird of night did sit,
Even at noon-day, upon the market-place,
Houting and shrieking. When these prodigies
Do so conjointly meet, let not men say,
These are their reasons, they are natural:
For I believe, they are portentous things
Unto the climate that they point upon.

Cic.
Indeed, it is a strange disposed time:
But men may construe things after their fashion,
Clean from the purpose of the things themselves.
Comes Cæsar to the Capitol to-morrow?

Casc.
He doth: for he did bid Antonius
Send word to you, he would be there to-morrow.

Cic.
Good-night then, Casca; this disturbed sky
Is not to walk in.

Casc.
Farewel, Cicero. [Exit Cicero.

SCENE VII. Enter Cassius.

Cas.
Who's there?

Casc.
A Roman.

Cas.
Casca, by your voice.

Casc.
Your ear is good. Cassius, what night is this?

Cas.
A very pleasing night to honest men.

Casc.
Who ever knew the heavens menace so?

Cas.
Those that have known the earth so full of faults.
For my part I have walk'd about the streets,
Submitting me unto the perillous night;
And thus unbraced, Casca, as you see,
Have bar'd my bosom to the thunder-stone:
And when the cross blue lightning seem'd to open
The breast of heav'n, I did present my self
Ev'n in the aim and very flash of it.

Casc.
But wherefore did you so much tempt the heav'ns?
It is the part of men to fear and tremble,
When the most mighty Gods, by tokens, send
Such dreadful heralds to astonish us.

Cas.
You are dull, Casca; and those sparks of life
That should be in a Roman, you do want,
Or else you use not; you look pale, and gaze,
And put on fear, and cast your self in wonder,
To see the strange impatience of the heav'ns:
But if you would consider the true cause,
Why all these fires, why all these gliding ghosts,
Why birds and beasts, from quality and kind,
Why old men, fools, and children calculate;
Why all these things change from their ordinance,
Their natures and pre-formed faculties

To monstrous quality; why, you shall find,
That heaven hath infus'd them with these spirits,
To make them instruments of fear and warning,
Unto some monstrous state.
Now could I, Casca, name to thee a man,
Most like this dreadful night,
That thunders, lightens, opens graves, and roars
As doth the lion in the Capitol;
A man no mightier than thy self or me,
In personal action; yet prodigious grown,
And fearful, as these strange eruptions are.

Casc.
'Tis Cæsar that you mean; is it not, Cassius?

Cas.
Let it be who it is: for Romans now
Have † ^notethewes and limbs like to their ancestors;
But woe the while, our fathers minds are dead,
And we are govern'd with our mothers spirits,
Our yoke and suff'rance shew us womanish.

Casc.
Indeed, they say, the Senators to-morrow
Mean to establish Cæsar as a King:
And he shall wear his crown by sea, and land,
In every place, save here in Italy.

&plquo;Cas.
&plquo;I know where I will wear this dagger then.
&plquo;Cassius from bondage will deliver Cassius.
&plquo;Therein, ye Gods, you make the weak most strong;
&plquo;Therein, ye Gods, you tyrants do defeat:
&plquo;Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass,
&plquo;Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron,
&plquo;Can be retentive to the strength of spirit:
&plquo;But life, being weary of these worldly bars,
&plquo;Never lacks power to dismiss it self.
&plquo;If I know this; know all the world besides,
&plquo;That part of tyranny, that I do bear,
&plquo;I can shake off at pleasure.

Casc.
So can I:
So every bondman in his own hand bears
The power to cancel his captivity.

Cas.
And why should Cæsar be a tyrant then?
Poor man! I know he would not be a wolf,
But that he sees the Romans are but sheep;
He were no lion, were not Romans hinds.
Those that with haste will make a mighty fire,
Begin it with weak straws. What trash is Rome?
What rubbish, and what offal? when it serves
For the base matter to illuminate
So vile a thing as Cæsar? But, oh grief!
Where hast thou led me? I, perhaps, speak this
Before a willing bondman: then I know
My answer must be made. But I am arm'd,
And dangers are to me indifferent.

Casc.
You speak to Casca, and to such a man,
That is no flearing tell-tale. Hold, my hand:
Be factious for redress of all these griefs,
And I will set this foot of mine as far,
As who goes farthest.

Cas.
There's a bargain made.
Now know you, Casca, I have mov'd already
Some certain of the noblest-minded Romans,
To under-go, with me, an enterprize,
Of honourable dang'rous consequence;
And I do know, by this they stay for me
In Pompey's porch. For now this fearful night,
There is no stir, or walking in the streets;
And the complexion of the element
Is feav'rous, like the work we have in hand,
Most bloody, fiery, and most terrible.

Enter Cinna.

Casc.
Stand close a while, for here comes one in haste.

Cas.
'Tis Cinna, I do know him by his gate,
He is a friend. Cinna, where haste you so?

Cin.
To find out you: who's that, Metellus Cimber?

Cas.
No, it's Casca, one incorporate
To our attempts. Am I not staid for, Cinna?

Cin.
I'm glad on't. What a fearful night is this?
There's two or three of us have seen strange sights.

Cas.
Am I not staid for? tell me.

Cin.
Yes you are.
O Cassius! could you win the noble Brutus
To our party—

Cas.
Be you content. Good Cinna take this paper,
And look you lay it in the Prætor's chair,
Where Brutus may but find it; and throw this
In at his window; set this up with wax
Upon old Brutus' statue: all this done,
Repair to Pompey's porch, where you shall find us.
Is Decius Brutus, and Trebonius there?

Cin.
All, but Metellus Cimber, and he's gone
To seek you at your house. Well, I will hie,
And so bestow these papers as you bad me.

Cas.
That done, repair to Pompey's theatre. [Exit Cinna.
Come Casca, you and I will, yet, ere day,
See Brutus at his house; three parts of him
Is ours already, and the man entire
Upon the next encounter yields him ours.

Casc.
O, he sits high in all the peoples hearts:
And that which would appear offence in us,
His countenance, like richest alchymy,
Will change to virtue, and to worthiness.

Cas.
Him, and his worth, and our great need of him,
You have right well conceited; let us go,
For it is after mid-night, and ere day
We will awake him, and be sure of him. [Exeunt.

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