Flav. Thou art a cobler, art thou?

2 Cit. 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 re-cover them. As proper men as ever trod upon neats-leather, have gone upon my handywork.

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

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, 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 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, fail 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,

Assemble all the poor men of your sort;
Draw them to Tyber banks, and weep your tears
Into the channel, till the lowest stream
Do kiss the most exalted shores of all.

[Exeunt Citizens. See, whe'r? their basest metal be not mov’d; 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.? 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.

Enter, in Procession, with Musick, CÆSAR; AN

TONY, for the course ; CALPHURNIA, PORTIA, Decius, CICERO, BRUTUS, CASSIUS, and Casca, a great Croud following ; among them a Soothsayer. Cves. Calphurnia, Casca, Peace, ho! Cæsar speaks.

Musick ceases. Coes.

Calphurnia, Cal. Here, my lord.

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

Ant. Cæsar, my lord.

Cees. 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 perforin'd.
Cæs. Set on; and leave no ceremony out.

[Musick. Sooth. Cæsar. Cres. Ha! Who calls? Casca. Bid every noise be still : Peace yet again.

[Musick ceases.

Ces. Who is it in the press, that calls on me?
I hear a tongue, shriller than all the musick,
Cry, Cæsar: Speak; Cæsar is turn’d to hear.

Sooth. Beware the ides of March.
Cres.

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.

Cæs. 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.

Sennet.* Exeunt all but Bry. and Cas.
Cas. Will you go see the order of the course?
Bru. Not I.
Cas. I pray you, do.

Bru. I am not gamesome: I do lack some part
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 hands 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,

4 Sennet.] I have been informed that sennet is derived from senneste, an antiquated French tune formerly used in the

ariny; but the Dictionaries which I have consulted exhibit no such word. It may be a corruption from sonata, Ital. STEEVENS.

strange a hand-] Strange, is alien, unfamiliar, such as might become a stranger,

5

Of late, with passions of some difference,
Conceptions only proper to myself,
Which give some soil, perhaps, to my behaviours:
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;? 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,
Where many of the best respect in Rome,
(Except immortal Cæsarz) speaking of Brutus,
And groaning underneath this age's yoke,
Have wish'd that noble Brutus had his eyes.
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.

6

passions of some difference,] With a fluctuation of discordant opinions and desires.