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Triumvirs, after the death of
Conspirators against Julius
Cæsar. LIGARIUS, DECIUS BRUTUS, METELLUS CIMBER, Flavius and MARULLUS, Tribunes. ARTEMIDORUS of Cnidos, a teacher of Rhetoric. Cinna, a Poet; another Poet; a Soothsayer. Lucilius, TITINIUS, MESSALA, Young Cato, and
VOLUMNIUS, friends to Brutus and Cassius. VARRO, Clitus, CLAUDIUS, STRATO, Lucius, and
DARDANIUS, servants to Brutus. PINDARUS, servant to Cassius.
CALPHURNIA, wife to Cæsar.
Senators, Citizens, Guards, Attendants, &c.
SCENE,-ROME; SARDIS; and near Philippi.
Enter FLAVIUS, MARULLUS, and a rabble of Citizens.
you home; M Is this a holiday? What, know
Being mechanical, you ought not Upon a labouring day, without the sign Of your profession ?-Speak, what trade art thou?
i 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.
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 withal 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. 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 sense
less 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 pass the streets of Rome : And when you saw his chariot but appear,