Imatges de pÓgina

Car. Why, Sir, a carpenter.

Mar. Where is thy leather apron, and thy rule?
What doft thou with thy beft apparel on?
You, Sir.. -What trade are you!

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Cob. Truly, Sir, in refpect of a fine workman, I am but, as you would fay, a cobler.

Mar. But what trade art thou? Answer me directly. Cob. A trade, Sir, that I hope I may use with a fafe confcience; which is indeed, Sir, a mender of bad foals.

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.

Flav. What mean'ft thou by that? mend me, thou faucy fellow?

Cob. Why, Sir, cobble you.

Flav. Thou art a cobbler, art thou?


Cob. Truly, Sir, all that I live by, is the awl. meddle with no mens' matters, nor woman's matters; but withal I am, indeed, Sir, a furgeon to old fhoes; when they are in great danger, I re-cover them. proper men as ever trod upon neats leather have gone upon my handy-work.

Flav. But wherefore art not in thy fhop to-day? Why doft thou lead these men about the streets?

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Gob." Truly, Sir, to wear out their fhoes, to get myfelf into more work." But indeed, Sir, we make holiday to fee Cæfar, and to rejoice in his triumph. Mar. Wherefore rejoice! what conqueft brings [he home? What tributaries follow him to Rome, To grace in captive bonds his chariot-wheels? You blocks, you stones, you worse than fenfeless 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 faw 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 fhores?

And do you now put on your best attire ?
And do you now cull out an holiday?
And do you now ftrew 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 muft light on this ingratitude.

Flav. Go, go, good countrymen, and for that fault Affemble all the poor men of your fort;

Draw them to Tyber's bank, and weep your tears
Into the channel, till the lowest stream
Do kifs the most exalted fhores of all.

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

If you

do find them deck'd with ceremonies Mar. May we do fo?

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.
Thefe growing feathers pluck'd from Cæfar's wing,,
Will make him fly an ordinary pitch;

Who else would fore above the view of men,

And keep us all in fervile fearfulness. [Exeunt feverally. SCENE


Enter Cæfar, Antony, for the courfe, Calphurnia, Portia, Decius, Cicero, Brutus, Caffius, Cafca, and a Soothsayer.

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Calp. Here, my Lord.

Caf. Stand you directly in Antonius' way, When he doth run his course- -Antonius,

Ant. Cæfar, my Lord.

Caf. Forget not in your fpeed, Antonius, To touch Calphurnia; for our elders fay, The barren touched in this holy chace, Shake off their fteril curfe.

Ant. I fhall remember.

When Cæfar fays, Do this; it is perform'd.
Caf. Set on, and leave no ceremony out.
Secth. Cæfar,

Caf. Ha! who calls?

Cafea. Bid every noife be ftill; peace yet again.
Caf. Who is it in the prefs that calls on me?
I hear a tongue, fhriller than all the music,
Cry, Cæfar. Speak; Cæfar is turn'd to hear.
Sooth. Beware the ides of March.
Caf. What man is that?

Bru. A Scothfayer bids you beware the ides of March.
Caf. Set him before me, let me fee his face.

Caf. Fellow, come from the throng, look upon Cæfar. Caf. What fay'ft thou to me now? speak once again. Scoth. Beware the ides of March.

Caf. He is a dreamer, let us leave him; pass.

[Exeunt Cæfar and train.


Manent Brutus and Caffius.

Caf. Will you go fee the order of the course?

Bru. Not I.

Caf. I pray you, do.

Bru. I am not gamefome; I do lack fome part

Of that quick fpirit that is in Antony :

Let me not hinder, Caffius, your defires;

I'll leave you.

Caf. Brutus, I do observe you now of late ;
I have not from your eyes that gentleness
And fhew of love as I was wont to have;
You bear too ftubborn and too strange a hand
Over your friend that loves you.

Bru Caffius,

Be not deceiv'd : if I have veil'd my look,,

I turn the trouble of my countenance
Merely upon my felf. Vexed I am
Of late with paffions of fome difference
Conceptions only proper to myself;

Which give fome foil perhaps to my behaviour:
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 fhews of love to other men.

Caf. Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your paffion;
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, Caffius; for the eye fees not itself,
But by reflection from fome 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 fhadow. I have heard,
Where many of the best respect in Rome,
(Except immortal Cæfar), fpeaking of Brutus,
And groning underneath this age's yoke,
Have with'd that noble Brutus had his eyes.
Bru. Into what dangers would you lead me,
That you would have me seek into myself
For that which is not in me!


Caf. Therefore, good Brutus, be prepar'd to hear; And fince you know you cannot see yourself

So well as by reflection, I, your glass,

Will modeftly 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 proteftor; if you know,.

That I do fawn on men, and hug them hard,,
And after scandal them; or if you know,
That I profefs myself in banqueting

To all the rout; then hold me dangerous.

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Bru. What means this fhouting? I do fear the people. Chufe Cæfar for their King.

Caf. Ay, do you fear it?

Then mult 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 fo long?
What is it that you would impart to me?
Ifit be aught toward the general good,
Set Honour in one eye, and Death i' th' other,
And I will look on Death indifferently:
For let the gods fo fpeed 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 fubject of my story.-
I cannot tell what you and other men
Think of this life; but for my fingle self,
I had as lief not be, as live to be
In awe of fuch a thing as I myself.
I was born free as Cafar, fo 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 gufly day,
"The troubled Tyber chafing with his hores,
Cæfar fays to me, Dar'ft thou, Caffius, now
Leap in with me into this angry flood,.

And fwim to yonder point?Upon the word,,
Accoutred as I was, I plunged in,.

. And bid him follow; fo indeed he did.
The torrent roar'd, and we did buffet it:
With lufty finews; throwing it afide,

And stemming it with hearts of controversy.. "But ere we could arrive the point propos'd," Cæfar cry'd, Help me, Caffius, or 1 fink.

I, as Æneas, our great ancestor,

Did from the flames of Troy upon his fhoulder

The old Anchyfes bear; fo from the waves of Tyber

Did I the tired Cæfar: and this man

Is now become a god, and Caffius is


was one of the generous exercifes practised at Rome and learned by all the youth of the best birth and quality as a ne ceffary qualification towards good foldiership.

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