Imatges de pÓgina


Flav. What trade, thou knave? thou naughty knave, what trade ?

Cob. Nay, I beseech you, Sir, be not out with me : yet


be out, Sir, I can mend you. Flav. What mean'st thou by chat : 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 tradesmen's matters, nor woman's matters ; but with-all, 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 leather have gone upon my handy-work.

Flav. But wherefore are 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 Cæfar, 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 cime 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 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 Be gone

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 ?

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 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 kiss the most exalted shores of all,

[Exeunt Commoners.
See, whe're their baseft mettle be not mov'd ;
They vanish 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.

Mar. May we do fo?
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 Cæfar's wing,
Will make him fly an ordinary pitch;
Who else would foar above the view of men,
And keep us all in servile fearfulness. [Exeunt severally.
* -deck'd with ceremonies.] Ceremonies, for religious orna-

Thus afterwards he explains them by Cæfar's trophies ; i. e, such as he had dedicated to the Gods.

foar above the view of men,] Paterculus says of this Cafar, animo fuper humanam & naturam & fidem evectus, which is finely expressed, if we understand it to fignify that he aspired to a power that was contrary to the rights of nature, and to the duty and good faith he oived his country.


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Vol. VII.

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Enter Cæsar, Antony, for the Course, Calphurnia,

Portia, Decius, Cicero, Brutus, Cassius, Casca, a
Caf. Calphurnia,
Casc. Peace, ho! Cafar speaks.
Caf. Calphurnia,
Calp. Here, my lord.

Cæs. Stand you directly in Antonius' way,
When he doth run his Course- Antonius,

Ant. Cæfar, 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 Cæfar says, do this ; it is perform’d.

Cef. Set on, and leave no ceremony out.
Sooth. Cæfar,
Cæf. Ha! who calls ?
Casc. Bid every noise be still: peace yet again.

Cæf. Who is it in the Press, that calls on me?
I hear a tongue, Ihriller than all the musick,
Cry, Cæsar. Speak; Cæfar is turn'd to hear.

Sootb. Beware the Ides of March.
Cæs. What man is that?
Bru. A foothsayer bids you beware the Ides of

Cef. Set him before me, let me see his face.
Cal. Fellow, come from the throng, look upon Cæfar.
Cés. 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 Cæsar 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 gamesom ; I do lack fome part
Of that quick fpirit that is in Antony:
Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires ;

I'll leave you.

Caf. 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 friend that loves you.

Bru. Caffius, Be not deceiv'd: if I have veil'd my look, I turn the trouble of my countenance Meerly upon myfelf. Vexed I am, Of late, with passions of some difference, Conceptions only proper to myself; Which give some foil, perhaps, to my behaviour: But let not therefore my good friends be griev'd, Among which number, Cassius, be you one ; Nor conftrue any farther my neglect, Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war, Forgets the shews of love to other men. Caf. 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, Casius; for the eye' sees not itself, But by reflexion from some other things,


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Caf. '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 Cæfar) 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, Cafhus,
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 since you know, you cannot see yourself
So well as by reflexion ; 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
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 myself in banqueting
To all the rout, then hold me dangerous.

(Flourish and shout.
Bru. What means this shouting? I do fear, the

Chuse Cæfar for their King.

Caf. Ay, do you fear it?
Then must I think, you would not have it fo.

Bru. I would not, Cafhus; 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 aught toward the general good,
Set honour in one eye, and Death i'ch other,



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