Page images
PDF
EPUB

2 Lord.

His own impatience Takes from Aufidius a great part of blame. Let's make the best of it.

Auf. My rage is gone, And I am struck with sorrow.-Take him up: Help, three of the chiefest soldiers; I'll be one.Beat thou the drum, than it speak mournfully: Trail your steel pikes.-Though in this city he Hath widow'd and unchilded many a one, Which to this hour bewail the injury, Yet he shall have a noble memory. Assist. [Exeunt, bearing the body of Coriolanus. A dead march sounded.

YOLA 11.

(1) Memorial.

The tragedy of Coriolanus is one of the most amusing of our author's performances. The old man's merriment in Menenius; the lofty lady's dignity in Volumnia; the bridal modesty in Virgilia; the patrician and military haughtiness in Coriola nus; the plebeian malignity and tribunitian inso lence in Brutus and Sicinius, make a very pleasing and interesting variety; and the various revolutions of the hero's fortune, fill the mind with anxious curiosity. There is, perhaps, too much bustle in the first act, and too little in the last.

2 T

JOHNSON,

[blocks in formation]

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

Mar. Wherefore rejoice? What conquest brings he home!

What tributaries follow him to Rome,

HENCE; home, you idle creatures, get you To grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels ?

home;

Is this a holiday? What! know you not,
Being mechanical, you ought not walk,
Upon a labouring day, without the sign

Of your profession ?-Speak, what trade art thou?
1 Cit. Why, sir, a carpenter.

Mar. Where is thy leather apron, and thy rule?
What dost thou with thy best apparel on ?—
You, sir; what trade are you?"

2 Cit. Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman,
I am but, as you would say, a cobbler.
Mar. But what trade art thou? Answer me di-
rectly.

2 Cit. A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use with a safe conscience; which is, indeed, sir, a mender of bad soals.

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

2 Cit. Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me: yet, if you be out, I can mend you. Mar. What meanest thou by that? Mend me, thou saucy fellow ?

2 Cit. Why, sir, cobble you.

Flav. Thou art a cobbler, art thou?

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 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 her banks,
To hear the replication of your sounds,
Made in her concave shores?
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 gods to intermit the plague
That needs must light on this ingratitude.
Flav. Go, go, good countrymen, and, for this
fault,

2 Cit. Truly, sir, all that I live by is, with the Assemble all the poor men of your sort ;1 awl: I meddle with no tradesmen's matters, nor Draw them to Tyber banks, and weep your tears women's matters, but with awl. I am, indeed, sir, Into the channel, till the lowest stream a surgeon to old shoes; when they are in great Do kiss the most exalted shores of all. danger, I re-cover them. As proper men as ever See, whe'r their basest metal be not mov'd; trod upon neat's-leather, have gone upon my handy-They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness. work.

Flav. But wherefore art not in thy shop to-day? Why dost thou lead these men about the streets?

[blocks in formation]

(Exe. Cit.

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

(3) Honorary ornaments; tokens of respect.

[graphic][merged small][graphic][merged small]

Mar. May we do so?

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 pluck'd from Cæsar'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.-The same. A public place. Enter,
in procession, with music, Cæsar; Antony, for
the course: Calphurnia, Portia, Decius, Cicero,
Brutus, Cassius, and Casca, a great crowd follow-
ing, among them a Soothsayer.
Cas. Calphurnia,-

Casca.

Cas.

Cal. Here, my lord.

But let not therefore my good friends be griev'd;
(Among which number, Cassius, be you one ;)
Nor construe any further my neglect,
Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war,
Forgets the shows of love to other men.

Cas. Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your
passion,4

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, Cassius: for the eye sees not itself,
But by reflection, by some other things.
Cas. '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,
Peace, ho! Cæsar speaks. Where many of the best respect in Rome,
[Music ceases. (Except immortal Cæsar,) speaking of Brutus,
Calphurnia,-And groaning underneath this age's yoke,
Have wish'd that noble Brutus had his eyes.

Cas. Stand you directly in Antonius' way, When he doth run his course.'-Antonius. Ant. Cæsar, my lord.

Cas. 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 Cæsar says, Do this, it is perform'd.
Cas. Set on; and leave no ceremony out.

Sooth. Cæsar.

[Music.

Cas. Ha! who calls?
Casca. Bid every noise be still:-Peace yet again.
[Music ceases.
Caes. Who is it in the press,2 that calls on me?
I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music,
Cry, Cæsar Speak; Cæsar is turn'd to hear.
Sooth. Beware the ides of March.
Cæs.

What man is that?
Bru. A soothsayer, bids you beware the ides of
March.

Cæs. Set him before me, let me see his face.
Cas. Fellow, come from the throng: Look upon
Cæsar.

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

Sooth. Beware the ides of March.
Cas. He is a dreamer; let us leave him ;-pass.
[Sennet. Exeunt all but Bru. and Cas.
Cas. Will you go see the order of the course?
Bru. Not I.

Cas. I pray you, do.

Bru. Into what dangers would you lead me,
Cassius,

That you would have me seek into myself
For that which is not in me?

Cas. Therefore, good Brutus, be prepar❜d to hear;
And, since you know you cannot see yourself
So well as by reflection, I, your glass,
Will modestly discover to yourself

That of yourself which you yet 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 protester; 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
people
Choose Cæsar for their king.
Cas.

Ay, do you fear it?
Then must I think you would not have it so.
Bru. I would not, Cassius; 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'the other,
And I will look on both indifferently:
For, let the gods so speed me, as I love
The name of honour more than I fear death.
Cas. I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus,
As well as I do know your outward favour.

Bru. I am not gamesome: I do lack some part Well, honour is the subject of my story.

Of that quick spirit that is in Antony.
Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires;
I'll leave you.

Cas. Brutus, I do observe you now of late:
I have not from your eyes that gentleness,
And show of love, as I was wont to have:
You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand
Over your friend that loves you.

Bru.

Cassius,

Be not deceiv'd: if I have veil'd my look,
I turn the trouble of my countenance

Merely upon myself. Vexed I am,

Of late with passions of some difference,
Conceptions only proper to myself,

Which give some soil, perhaps to my behaviours:

(1) A ceremony observed at the feast of Lupercalia. (3) Flourish of instruments.

(2) Crowd.

I cannot tell, what you and other men
Think of this life; but, for my single self,

I had as lief not be, as live to be

In awe of such a thing as I myself.

I was born free as Cæsar; so were you:
We both have fed as well; and we can both
Endure the winter's cold as well as he.
For once, upon a raw and gusty day,
The troubled Tyber chafing with her shores,
Cæsar said to me, Dar'st thou, Cassius, now
Leap in with me into this angry flood,
And swim to yonder point? Upon the word,
Accoutred as I was, I plunged in,
And bade him follow; so, indeed, he did.
The torrent roar'd; and we did buffet it
With lusty sinews; throwing it aside

(4) The nature of your feelings.
(5) Allure. (6) Windy.

« PreviousContinue »