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LUCILIUS, TITINIUS, MESSALA, Young CATO, VOLUMNIUS, Friends to Brutus and Cassius.

VARRO, CLITUS, CLAUDIUS, STRATO, LUCIUS, DARDANIUS, Servants

to Brutus.

PINDARUS, Servant to Cassius.

CALPHURNIA, Wife to Cæsar.

PORTIA, Wife to Brutus.

Senators, Citizens, Attendants, &c.

Scene, during a great part of the play, at Rome: afterwards

at Sardis: then near Philippi.

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CINNA, Poeta. Alius quidam Poeta.

LUCILIUS, TITINIUS, MESSALA, CATO minor, VOLUMNIUS, Bruti et Cassii Comites.

VARRO, CLITUS, CLAUDIUS, STRATO, LUCIUS, DARDANIUS, Bruti Famuli

PINDARUS, Cassii Mancipium.

CALPURNIA, Caesaris Uxor.

PORTIA, Bruti Uxor.

Senatores, Cives, Famuli, &c.

Agitur, primum Roma: dein Sardibus: postea ad Philippos.

JULIUS CESAR.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

ROME. A Street.

Enter FLAVIUS, MARULLUS, and a rabble of Citizens.

Flav.-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 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 directly.

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

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, sir, I can mend you.

Mar.-What meanest thou by that? Mend me, thou saucy

fellow?

2 Cit. Why, sir, cobble you.

Mar.-Thou art a cobbler, art thou?

JULII CESARIS

ACTUS I.,

SCENA L

ROMA Via quædam.

FLAVIUS, MARULLUS, CIVIUM Turba.

Flav.-Hinc, domum, ignavi; apagite, domum; num hodie ferias agitis? Quid? Nescitisne nefas esse cuivis artifici die profesto deambulare, nisi insignibus artis suæ induto? Heus tu! Cujusnam artis tu artifex ? Civis 1.-Ego, domine, faber lignarius.

Mar.-Ubi ergo vestis coriacea? ubi regula? quid vult vestitus iste nitidior ? Heus et tu; quamnam et tu artem ?

Civis 2.—Nullam sane artem ego, domine; opifex sum inops, non artifex.

Mar.-Qualis ergo opifex ? Statim dicas.

Civis 2.-Honestus, spero, neque infimus; quamvis inter ima hominum versor.

Mar.—Quale opus, impudens ? quale opus tuum ?

Civis 2.-Ne, domine, rumparis. Sin te ruperis, ego te consuere possum.

Mar.-Mene consuere ? quid vis, procax ?

Civis 2.-Calceos nempe tuos, domine.
Mar.-Ergone sutor es ?

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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 upon neat'sdanger, I re-cover them. As proper men as ever trod leather have gone upon my handiwork.

Mar.-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

up

Have climbed
you
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 pass 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 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,

Assemble 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 shores of all.

[Ex. Citizens.

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