The Complete Works of William Shakespeare Part 255

POPILIUS LENA, "

FLAVIUS, tribune MARULLUS, tribune CATO, supportor of Brutus LUCILIUS, " " "

t.i.tINIUS, " " "

MESSALA, " " "

VOLUMNIUS, " " "

ARTEMIDORUS, a teacher of rhetoric CINNA, a poet VARRO, servant to Brutus c.l.i.tUS, " " "

CLAUDIO, " " "

STRATO, " " "

LUCIUS, " " "

DARDANIUS, " " "

PINDARUS, servant to Ca.s.sius The Ghost of Caesar A Soothsayer A Poet Senators, Citizens, Soldiers, Commoners, Messengers, and Servants

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SCENE: Rome, the conspirators' camp near Sardis, and the plains of Philippi.

ACT I. SCENE I.

Rome. A street.

Enter Flavius, Marullus, and certain Commoners.

FLAVIUS. Hence, home, you idle creatures, get you home.

Is this a holiday? What, know you not, Being mechanical, you ought not walk Upon a laboring day without the sign Of your profession? Speak, what trade art thou?

FIRST COMMONER. Why, sir, a carpenter.

MARULLUS. Where is thy leather ap.r.o.n and thy rule?

What dost thou with thy best apparel on?

You, sir, what trade are you?

SECOND COMMONER. Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but, as you would say, a cobbler.

MARULLUS. But what trade art thou? Answer me directly.

SECOND COMMONER. A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use with a safe conscience, which is indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles.

MARULLUS. What trade, thou knave? Thou naughty knave, what trade?

SECOND COMMONER. Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me; yet, if you be out, sir, I can mend you.

MARULLUS. What mean'st thou by that? Mend me, thou saucy fellow!

SECOND COMMONER. Why, sir, cobble you.

FLAVIUS. Thou art a cobbler, art thou?

SECOND COMMONER. Truly, Sir, all that I live by is with the awl; I meddle with no tradesman's matters, nor women's matters, but with awl. 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 neat's leather have gone upon my handiwork.

FLAVIUS. But wherefore art not in thy shop today?

Why dost thou lead these men about the streets?

SECOND COMMONER. Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes to get myself into more work. But indeed, sir, we make holiday to see Caesar and to rejoice in his triumph.

MARULLUS. 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 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 sat The livelong day with patient expectation To see great Pompey pa.s.s the streets of Rome.

And when you saw his chariot but appear, Have you not made an universal shout That Tiber trembled underneath her banks To hear the replication of your sounds Made in her concave sh.o.r.es?

And do you now put on your best attire?

And do you now cull out a holiday?

And do you now strew 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 G.o.ds to intermit the plague That needs must light on this ingrat.i.tude.

FLAVIUS. Go, go, good countrymen, and, for this fault, a.s.semble all the poor men of your sort, Draw them to Tiber banks, and weep your tears Into the channel, till the lowest stream Do kiss the most exalted sh.o.r.es of all.

Exeunt all Commoners.

See whether their basest metal be not moved; They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness.

Go you down that way towards the Capitol; This way will I. Disrobe the images If you do find them deck'd with ceremonies.

MARULLUS. May we do so?

You know it is the feast of Lupercal.

FLAVIUS. It is no matter; let no images Be hung with Caesar'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 pluck'd from Caesar's wing Will make him fly an ordinary pitch, Who else would soar above the view of men And keep us all in servile fearfulness. Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A public place.

Flourish. Enter Caesar; Antony, for the course; Calpurnia, Portia, Decius, Cicero, Brutus, Ca.s.sius, and Casca; a great crowd follows, among them a Soothsayer.

CAESAR. Calpurnia!

CASCA. Peace, ho! Caesar speaks.

Music ceases.

CAESAR. Calpurnia!

CALPURNIA. Here, my lord.

CAESAR. Stand you directly in Antonio's way, When he doth run his course. Antonio!

ANTONY. Caesar, my lord?

CAESAR. Forget not in your speed, Antonio, To touch Calpurnia, for our elders say The barren, touched in this holy chase, Shake off their sterile curse.

ANTONY. I shall remember.

When Caesar says "Do this," it is perform'd.

CAESAR. Set on, and leave no ceremony out. Flourish.

SOOTHSAYER. Caesar!

CAESAR. Ha! Who calls?

CASCA. Bid every noise be still. Peace yet again!

CAESAR. Who is it in the press that calls on me?

I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music, Cry "Caesar." Speak, Caesar is turn'd to hear.

SOOTHSAYER. Beware the ides of March.

CAESAR. What man is that?

BRUTUS. A soothsayer you beware the ides of March.

CAESAR. Set him before me let me see his face.

Ca.s.sIUS. Fellow, come from the throng; look upon Caesar.

CAESAR. What say'st thou to me now? Speak once again.

SOOTHSAYER. Beware the ides of March.

CAESAR. He is a dreamer; let us leave him. Pa.s.s.

Sennet. Exeunt all but Brutus and Ca.s.sius.

Ca.s.sIUS. Will you go see the order of the course?

BRUTUS. Not I.

Ca.s.sIUS. I pray you, do.