PRINTED FOR BELL & BRADFUTE, J. DICKSON,.. W. CREECH, J. & J. FAIRBAIRN, AND T. DUNCAN, BOOKSELLERS. Messala, friends to Brutus and Treinius, S Caffius. Strato, Lucrus, fervants to Brutus. Pindarus, fervant to Cafius. Ghost of Julius Cæfar. Cobler. Carpenter. Other Plebeians. Calphurnia, wife to Cafar. Portia, quife to Brutus. Artemidorus, a fophift of Cuidos. I Guards and Attendants. SCENE, for the three first acts, at Rome; afterwards, at an ite Anear Mutina, at Sardis, and Philippi. ACT I. SCENE I. A ftreet in Rome. Enter Flavius, Marullus, and certain Commoners. Flav. HENCE; home, you idle creatures, get you home. Is this a holiday? what! know you not, A Car. Car. Why, Sir, a carpenter. Mar. Where is thy leather apron, and thy rule ? What dost thou with thy best apparel on? Cob. Truly, Sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but, as you would fay, a cobler. Mar. But what trade art thou? Answer me directly. Cob. A trade, Sir, that I hope I may use with a fafe confcience; which is indeed, Sir, a mender of bad foals. Flav. What trade, thou knave? thou naughty knave, what trade? Cob. Nay, I heseech 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. Flav. Thou art a cobler, art thou? Cob. Truly, Sir, all that I live by, is the awl. I meddle with no mens' 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 dost 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 fee Cæfar, 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 fenfeless 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 fat The live-long day with patient expectation, To fee great Pompey pass the streets of Rome. And when you faw his chariot but appear, 1 Have you not made an universal shout, 7. That |