Act 1, Scene 1
Rome. A street.
- Enter Flavius, Murellus, and certain Commoners over the
Flavius3 - 7
- Hence! Home, you idle creatures, get you home!
- Is this a holiday? What, know you not,
- Being mechanical, you ought not walk
- Upon a laboring day without the sign
- Of your profession? Speak, what trade art thou?
- Why, sir, a carpenter.
Murellus9 - 11
- Where is thy leather apron and thy rule?
- What dost thou with thy best apparel on?
- You, sir, what trade are you?
Cobbler12 - 13
- Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but, as you
- would say, a cobbler.
- But what trade art thou? Answer me directly.
Cobbler15 - 16
- A trade, sir, that I hope I may use with a safe conscience,
- which is indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles.
- What trade, thou knave? Thou naughty knave, what trade?
Cobbler18 - 19
- Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me; yet if you be
- out, sir, I can mend you.
- What mean’st thou by that? Mend me, thou saucy fellow?
- Why, sir, cobble you.
- Thou art a cobbler, art thou?
Cobbler23 - 27
- 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.
Flavius28 - 29
- But wherefore art not in thy shop today?
- Why dost thou lead these men about the streets?
Cobbler30 - 32
- Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get myself into more
- work. But indeed, sir, we make holiday to see Caesar, and to
- rejoice in his triumph.
Murellus33 - 56
- 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 tow’rs and windows, yea, to chimney-tops,
- Your infants in your arms, and there have sate
- 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.
Flavius57 - 67
- 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.
- Exeunt all the Commoners.
- See whe’er their basest metal be not mov’d;
- 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 ceremonies.
Murellus68 - 69
- May we do so?
- You know it is the feast of Lupercal.
Flavius70 - 77
- It is no matter, let no images
- Be hung with Caesar’s trophies, I’ll about,
- And drive away the vulgar from the streets;
- So do you too, where you perceive them thick.
- These growing feathers pluck’d from Caesar’s wing
- Will make him fly an ordinary pitch,
- Who else would soar above the view of men,
- And keep us all in servile tearfulness.