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A Soothfaryer. Odavius Cæsar,
Triumvirs Young Cato. M. Antony,
after thedeath Cinna, a poet. Le
Volumnius, ! Cassius,
fervants to Brutus. Clitus,
conspirators Claudius, Treborius, agains? Hve Strato, Ligarius,
lius Cæjar. | Lucius, Decius Brutus, Mereilas Cimber,
Pindarus, forvant to Cafius. Cinna,
Ghost of Julius Cæsar.
Ti ibunes, and ene- Other Plebeians. Marullus, mies to Cæfur.
Calphurnia, roife to Cæfar.
Portia, quife to Brutus.
Guards and Attendants.
SCENE, for the tree forft asis, at Rome; afterwards, at an ifte
near Mutina, at Sardis, and Philippi.
ACT I. SCENE I.
A freet in Rome.
Enter. Flavius, Marullus, and certain Commoners.
Flar. HENCE ; home, you idle creatures, get your
Car. Why, Sir, a carpenter.
Mar. Where is thy leather apron, and thy rule?
-What trade are you? Cob. Truly, Sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but, as you would fay, a cobler.
Alar. But what trade art thou? Anfwer me directly.
Cob. A trade, Sir, that I hope I may use with a safe conscience ; which is indeed, Sir, a nender of bad foals.
Flav. What trade, thou knave? thou naughty knave, what trade?
Cob. Nay, I beseech you, Sir, be not out with me : yet if you
be out, Sir, I can mend you. Flav. What mean'st thou by that? mend me, thou faucy fellow?
Cob. Why, Sir, coble you.
Cob. Truly, Sir, all that I live by, is the awl. I meddle with no mnens' matters, nor woman's matters ; but withal I am, indeed, Sir, a furgeon to old shoes ; when they are in great danger, I re-cover them. As proper men as ever trod upon neats-lether have gone upon my handy-work.
Flav. But wherefore art not in thy shop to-day? Why doft thou lead these men about the streets ?
Cob. “ 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 What tributaries follow him to Rome, [home? To grace in captive bonds his chariot-wheels ? You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things ! O you hard hearts !
cruel men of Rome! Knew you not Pompey? many a time and oft Have
climb'd up to walls and battlements, 'To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops, Your infants in your arms; and there have fat. 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,