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JULIUS CAESAR.

VOL. XV.

1

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Cinna,

Flavius, and Marullus, Tribunes.
Artemidorus, a Sophist of Cnidos.
A Soothsayer.

Cinna, a Poet, Another Poet.

Lucilius, Titinius, Messala, Young Cato, and
Volumnius; Friends to Bratus and Cassius.
Varro, Clitus, Claudius, Strato, Lucius, Darda-
nius; Servants to Brutus,
Pindarus, Servant to Cassius.

Calphurnia, Wife to Caesar.
Portia, Wife to Brutus.

Senators, Citizens, Guards, Attendants, &c.

SCENE, during a great part of the play, at Rome: afterwards at Sardis; and near

Philippi.

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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 cobler. Mar. But what trade art thou?

directly.

Answer me

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 kuave, 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.

Flay. 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 inen as ever trod upon neats-leather, have gone upon my handywork.

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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 nake holiday, to see Caesar, and to rejoice in his triumph.

T

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,

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