Imatges de pàgina
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Cob. Truly Sir, all that I live by, is the Awl: I meddle with no Tradesman's Matters, nor Woman's Matters; but withal, I am indeed, Sir, a Surgeon to old Shooes; when they are in great Danger, I recover 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 doft thou lead thefe Men about the Streets?

Cob. Truly Sir, to wear out their Shooes, to get my felf into more work. But indeed Sir, we make Holy-day to see Cafar, and to rejoyce in his Triumph.

Mur. Wherefore rejoyce?What Conqueft brings

What Tributaries follow him to Rome,

To grace in Captive Bonds his Chariot Wheels?

(he home?

You Blocks, you Stones, you worse than fenfelefs 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 Univerfal 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 Holy-day?
And do you now ftrew Flowers in his way,
That comes in Triumph over Pompey's Blood?
Be gone-

Run to your Houfer, 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 Bank, and weep your Tears
Into the Channel, 'till the lowest Stream

Do kifs the most exalted Shores of all. [Exeunt Commoners.

See

See where their baseft Mettle 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 do find them deck'd with Ceremonies.
you
Mur. 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.

Enter Cæfar, Antony for the Course, Calphurnia, Portia, Decius, Cicero, Brutus, Caffius, Caska, a Soothsayer; after them Murellus and Flavius.

Caf. Calphurnia.

Cask. Peace ho, Cafar fpeaks.

Caf. Calphurnia.

Calp. Here, my Lord.

Caf. Stand you directly in Antonio's way,

When he doth run his Courfe.

Ant. Cafar, my Lord.

Antonio.

Caf. Forget not in your speed, Antonio, To touch Calphurnia; for our Elders say, The Barren touched in this holy Chafe, Shake off their steril Coufe.

Ant. I fhall remember.

When Cafar fays, Do this; it is perform'd.
Caf. Set on, and leave no Ceremony out.
Sooth. Cafar.

Caf. Ha! Who calls?

Cask. 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 Mufick,
Cry, Cafar: Speak; Cafar is turn'd to hear.
Sooth. Beware the Ides of March.
Caf. What Man is that?

Bru.

Bru. A Sooth-layer 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 Cafar. 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; Pafs.

[Exeunt. 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 Gamefom; I do lack fome part
Of that quick Spirit that is in Antony :
Let me not hinder, Caffius, your Defires;
I'll leave you.

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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 stubborn, and too ftrange a Hand Over your Friends, that love you.

Bru. Caffius,

Be not deceiv'd: if I have veil'd my look,
I turn the Trouble of my Countenance
Meerly upon my felf. Vexed I am

Of late, with Paffions of fome Difference,
Conceptions only proper to my felf,

Which give fome Soil, 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 iny Neglect,

Than that poor Brutus, with himself at War,
Forgets the fhews of Love to other Men.

Caf. Then Brutus, I have much miftook your Paffion,
By Means whereof, this Breaft of mine hath buried
Thoughts of great Value, worthy Cogitations.
Tell me good Brutus, can you fee your Face?
Bru. No, Caffius; for the Eye fees not it self,
But by Reflection, by 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

That you might fee your Shadow. I have heard
Where many of the beft Refpe& in Rome,
Except immortal Cafar, 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 my self,
For that which is not in me?

Caf. Therefore, good Brutus, be prepar❜d to hear;
And fince you know you cannot fee your felf
So well as by Refletion; I, your Glass,
Will modeftly discover to your felf

That of your felf, which yet you know not of.
And be not jealous of me, gentle Brutus;
Were I a common Laughter, 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 my felf in Banqueting
To all the Rout, then hold me dangerous.

[Flourish and Shout. Bru. What means this Shouting? I do fear, the People Chufe Cafar for their King.

Caf. Ay, do you fear it?

Then muft 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?
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 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 flf,
1 had as lief not be, as live to be

VOL. V.

M

Ia

as İ

my felf.

In awe of fuch a Thing as

I was born free as Cafar, fo were you,
We both have fed as well, and we can both
Endure the Winters cold, as well as he.
For once, upon a raw and gufty Day,
The troubled Tyber chafing with his Shores,
Cafar 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 bad him follow; fo indeed he did.
The Torrent roar'd, and we did buffet it
With Lufty Sinews, throwing it afide,

And ftemming it with Hearts of Controverfie.
But e'er we could we arrive the Point propos'd,
Cafar cry'd, Help me Caffius, or I fink.

I, as Æneas, our great Ancestor,

Did from the Flames of Troy, upon his Shoulder
The old Anchifes bear, fo, from the Waves of Tyber
Did I the tired Cafar: And this Man

Is now become a God, and Caffius is

A wretched Creature, and must bend his Body,
If Cafar carelefly 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 fake: 'Tis true, this God did shake,
His coward Lips did from their Colour fly,
And that fame Eye, whofe bend doth awe th. World,
Did lofe his Luftre; 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 fome drink, Titinius-
As a fick Girl. Ye Gods, it doth amaze me,
A Man cf fuch a feeble Temper should
So get the Start of the majeftick World,
And bear the Palm alone.

Bru. Another general Shout?

I do believe, that thefe Applaufes are

[Shout. Flourish.

For fome new Honours that are heap'd on Cafar.

Caf. Why Man, he doth beftride the narrow World!

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