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JULIUS CESAR.

ACT I. SCENE I.

A Street in Rome.

Enter Flavius, 'Marullus, and certain Commoners.

FLAVIUS.

ENCE; home, you idle creatures, get you home.

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Is this a holiday? What! know you not,

Being mechanical, you ought not walk
Upon a labouring day without the fign

Of your profeffion?-Speak, what trade art thou?
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?

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 di

rectly.

Cob. A trade, Sir, that, I hope, I may ufe 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.

1 Murellus.] I have, upon the authority of Plutarch, &c. given to this tribune, his right name Marulius.

THEOBALD.

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2 Mar. What meaneft thou by that? Mend me, thou faucy 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 tradefman's matters, nor woman's matters; but with all. I am, indeed, Sir, a furgeon to old fhoes; 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 fhop to-day? Why doft thou lead thefe men about the streets?

Cob. 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 flones, you worse than fenfelefs
things!

O you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome,
Knew ye 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 fee great Pompey pass the streets of Rome:
And when you faw his chariot but appear,
Have you not made an universal shout,

⚫ Mar. What mean'ft thou by that?] As the Cobler, in the preceding fpeech, replies to Flavius, not to Marullus; 'tis plain, 1 think, this fpeech must be given to Flavius. THEOBALD.

I have replaced Marullus, who might properly enough reply to a faucy fentence directed to his colleague, and to whom the fpeech was probably given, that he might not ftand too long unemployed upon the stage. JOHNSON.

That

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?
gone :

Be

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 this
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 baseft metal be not mov'd;
They vanish tongue-ty'd in their guiltinefs.
Go you down that way towards the Capitol,
This way will I Difrobe the images,

If you do find them 3 deck'd with ceremonies.
Mar. May we do fo?

You know, it is the feaft 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.

3-deck'd with ceremonies.] Ceremonies, for religious ornaments. Thus afterwards he explains them by Cafar's trophies; i. e. such as he had dedicated to the Gods. WARBURTON.

Cæfar's trophies, are I believe the crowns which were placed on his ftatues. So in Sir Tho. North's Translation. "There were fet up images of Cæfar in the city with diadems on their heads like kings. Those the two tribunes went and pulled

down."

STEBVENS.

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

Who else would foar above the view of men,

And keep us all in fervile fearfulness.

Enter Cafar

SCENE II.

[Exeunt feverally.

Antony for the course; Calphurnia,

Portia, Decius, Cicero, Brutus, Caffius, Cafca, a Soothsayer.

Caf. Calphurnia,

Cafea. Peace, ho! Cafar fpeaks.

Caf. Calphurnia,

Calp. Here, my Lord.

Caf. Stand you directly in Antonius' way,

When he doth run his Courfe.

Ant. Cæfar, My Lord.

Antonius ;

Caf. Forget not in your speed, Antonius, To touch Calphurnia: for our Elders fay,

4 This perfon was not Decius, but Decimus Brutus. The poet (as l'oltaire has done fince) confounds the characters of Marcus and Decimus. Decimus Brutus was the most cherished by Cafar of all his friends, while Marcus kept aloof, and declined fo large a fhare of his favours and honours as the other had conftantly accepted. Velleius Paterculus, fpeaking of Decimus Brutus, fays-ab iis quos miferat Antonius, jugulatus eft, juftiffimafque optimè de le merito, C. Cæfari poenas dedit, cujus cum primus omnium amicorum fuiffet, interfector fuit, et fortunæ ex qua fructum tulerat, invidiam in auctorem relegabat, cenfebatque æquum quæ acceperat a Cæfare retinere, Cæfarem qui illa dederat periiffe. Lib. ii. c. 64. Jungitur his Decimus notiffimus inter amicos Cæfaris, ingratus, cui trans- Alpina fuiffet Gallia Cæfareo nuper commiffa favore. Non illum conjuncta fides, non nomen amici Deterrere poteft.

Ante alios Decimus, cui fallere, nomen amici
Præcipue dederat, ductorem fæpe morantem
Incitat.-Supplem. Lucani.

STEEVENS.

The

The barren, touched in this holy chase,
Shake off their fteril curse.

Ant. I fhall remember:

When Cæfar fays, do this, it is perform'd.

Caf. Set on; and leave no ceremony out.
Sooth. Cæfar,-

Caf. Ha! who calls?

Cafca. Bid every noise be still:-Peace! Yet again? Caf. Who is it in the prefs, that calls on me? I hear a tongue, fhriller than all the mufick, Cry, Cæfar. Speak; Cæfar is turn'd to hear. Sooth. Beware the Ides of March.

Caf. What man is that?

Bru. A foothfayer bids you beware the Ides of March.

Caf. Set him before me; let me fee his face. Cafca. Fellow, come from the throng. Look upon Cæfar.

Caf. What fay'ft thou to me now? Speak once again.

Sooth. Beware the Ides of March.

Caf. He is a dreamer; let us leave him :-Pass.
[ Sennet. Exeunt Cæfar and Train.
Caf. Will you go fee the order of the Courfe?
Bru. Not I.

Caf. I pray you, do.

Bru. I am not gamefome; I do lack fome part Of that quick spirit that is in Antony.

Let me not hinder, Caffius, your defires;

I'll leave you.

s I have here inferted the word Sennet, from the original edition, that I may have an opportunity of retracting a hafty conjecture in one of the marginal directions in Henry VIII. Senn t appears to be a particular tune or mode of martial mufick. JOHNS. I have been informed that Sennet is derived from Sennefte, an antiquated French tune formerly used in the army, but the Dictionaries which I have confulted exhibit no fuch word. STEEVENS.

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