nuation of the play after the death of Cæsar; supposing that great event would have been more powerful than any other for the catastrophe; but it is hardly possible to read to the end, and wish any thing altered; unless, perhaps, that Cæsar's character had been rendered more prominent in those few scenes where he is introduced. The drama is not, however, designed to represent the life, but solely the death, of Julius Cæsar. The poet has not attempted to show in action, even by one important incident, how this conqueror of the world lived,-but merely how he died.

In so short a composition as a play some characters must necessarily be compressed; and, in the original editions of this work, Cicero's has been more than any other diminished. That celebrated orator is there placed amongst the dramatist personæ, and has scarcely been given a word to say.

The following account from Upton will be of use to the reader:

"The real length of time in Julius Cæsar' is as follows: About the middle of February, A. U. C. 709, a frantic festival, sacred to Pan, was held in honour of Cæsar, when the royal crown was offered him by Marc Antony. On the 15th of March, in the same year, he was slain. A. U. C. 711, Brutus and Cassius were defeated near Philippi.”

SCENE-For the first three Acts, at Rome; afterwards at an Isle near Mutina, at Sardis, and Philippi.

JULIUS CÆSAR.

ACT THE FIRST.

SCENE I.

Rome.

A Street.

A great Tumult without.

Enter CASCA and TREBONIUS, meeting a Throng of PLEBEIANS.

Casca. Hence; home, you idle creatures, get you 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 Ple. Why, sir, a carpenter.

Tre. Where is thy leather apron, and thy rule?— You, sir; what trade are you?

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

Tre. But what trade art thou? Answer me directly. 2 Ple. A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use with a safe conscience; which is, indeed, sir, a mender of bad soals.

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

2 Ple. Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me: yet, if you be out, sir, I can mend you. Casca. What mean'st by that? Mend me, thou saucy fellow?

2 Ple. Why, sir, cobble you.

Tre. Thou art a cobbler, art thou?

2 Ple. Truly, sir, all that I live by is, with the awl: I meddle with no trade-man's matters, nor woman'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 handy-work.

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

2 Ple. 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. Casca. 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 a universal shout,

That Tyber trembled underneath his banks,
To hear the replication of your sounds,
Made in his concave shores?

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.

Tre. 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 PLEBEIANS. Casca. See, whe'r 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 Cæsar's trophies. Tre. May we do so?

You know it is the feast of Lupercal.

Casca. It is no matter:

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.