Imatges de pàgina
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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 cobler, art thou?

Cob. Truly, Sir, all, that I live by, is the awl: I meddle with no tradefmen'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 recover them. As proper men as ever trod upon neatsleather have gone upon my handy-work.

Flav. But wherefore are not in thy shop to day? Why doft thou lead these men about the streets?

Cob. Truly, Sir, to wear out their fhoes, to get "myself into more work." But, indeed, Sir, we make holiday to fee Cafar, 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 ftones, 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 fate
The live-long day with patient expectation,
To fee great Pompey pafs the streets of Rome:
And when you faw his chariot but appear,
Have you not made an universal fhout,
That Tyber trembled underneath his banks
To hear the replication of your founds,
Made in his concave fhores?

And

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're their baseft 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 feaft of Lupercal.

Flav. It is no matter, let no images Be hung with Cafar'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, pluckt from Cafar'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. [Exeunt feverally.

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

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-foar above the view of men,] Paterculus fays of this Cafar, animo fuper humanam & naturam & fidem evectus, which is finely expreffed, if we understand it to fignity that he afpired to a power that was contrary to the rights of nature, and to the duty and good faith he owed his country.

VO L. VII.

B 3

SCENE

S CE NE II.

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

Caf. Calphurnia,

Cafc. Peace, ho! Cæfar fpeaks.

Caf. Calphurnia,

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 speed, Antonius,
To touch Calpburnia; for our Elders say,
The barren, touched in this holy chase,
Shake off their steril curfe.

Ant. I fhall remember.

When Cæfar fays, do this; it is perform'd.
Caf. Set on, and leave no ceremony out.
Sooth. Cafar,-

Caf. Ha! who calls?

Cafc. Bid every noise be ftill: peace yet again. Caf. Who is it in the Prefs, that calls on me?. I hear a tongue, fhriller than all the mufick, Cry, Cafar. Speak; Cafar is turn'd to hear. Sooth. Beware the Ides of March.

Cef. What man is that?

Bru. A foothfayer 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? fpeak once again. Sooth. Beware the Ides of March.

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

[Exeunt Cæfar and Train.

SCENE

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Caf. Will you go fee the order of the Course?
Bru. Not I.

Caf. I pray you, do.

Bru. I am not gamefom; 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
Meerly upon myfelf. 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 farther 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 breaft 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 reflexion from fome other things.

B 4

Caf

Caf. 'Tis juft.

And it is very much lamented, Brutus,
That you have no fuch mirrors, as will turn
Your hidden worthinefs 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 groaning underneath this age's yoak,
Have wifh'd, that noble Brutus had his eyes.
Bru. Into what dangers would you lead
me, Caffius,
That you would have me feek 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 reflexion; 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 fcandal them; or if you know,
That I profefs myself in banqueting

To all the rout, then hold me dangerous.

[Flourish and fhout.

Bru. What means this fhouting? I do fear, the
People

Chufe Cafar for their King.

Caf. Ay, do you fear it?

Then must 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 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'th' other,

And

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