Julius Caesar - The Original Classic Edition. Shakespeare William

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      THE TRAGEDY OF JULIUS CAESAR

       by William Shakespeare

       Dramatis Personae

       JULIUS CAESAR, Roman statesman and general

       OCTAVIUS, Triumvir after Caesar's death, later Augustus Caesar,

       first emperor of Rome

       MARK ANTONY, general and friend of Caesar, a Triumvir after his death

       LEPIDUS, third member of the Triumvirate

       MARCUS BRUTUS, leader of the conspiracy against Caesar

       CASSIUS, instigator of the conspiracy CASCA, conspirator against Caesar TREBONIUS, " " "

       CAIUS LIGARIUS, " " " DECIUS BRUTUS, " " " METELLUS CIMBER, " " " CINNA, " " "

       CALPURNIA, wife of Caesar PORTIA, wife of Brutus CICERO, senator

       POPILIUS, " POPILIUS LENA, " FLAVIUS, tribune MARULLUS, tribune

       CATO, supportor of Brutus

       LUCILIUS, " " " TITINIUS, " " " MESSALA, " " " VOLUMNIUS, " " "

       ARTEMIDORUS, a teacher of rhetoric

       CINNA, a poet

       VARRO, servant to Brutus

       CLITUS, " " " CLAUDIO, " " " STRATO, " " " LUCIUS, " " " DARDANIUS, " " "

       PINDARUS, servant to Cassius

       The Ghost of Caesar

       A Soothsayer

       A Poet

       Senators, Citizens, Soldiers, Commoners, Messengers, and

       Servants

       <<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED BY PROJECT ETEXT OF CARNEGIE MELLON UNIVERSITY

       WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> SCENE: Rome, the conspirators' camp near Sardis, and the plains of Philippi.

       1

       ACT I. SCENE I. Rome. A street.

       Enter Flavius, Marullus, and certain Commoners.

       FLAVIUS. 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? FIRST COMMONER. Why, sir, a carpenter. MARULLUS. Where is thy leather apron and thy rule? What dost thou with thy best apparel on?

       You, sir, what trade are you?

       SECOND COMMONER. Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am

       but, as you would say, a cobbler.

       MARULLUS. But what trade art thou? Answer me directly. SECOND COMMONER. A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use with a safe

       conscience, which is indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles. MARULLUS. What trade, thou knave? Thou naughty knave, what trade?

       SECOND COMMONER. Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me;

       yet,

       if you be out, sir, I can mend you.

       MARULLUS. What mean'st thou by that? Mend me, thou saucy fellow!

       SECOND COMMONER. Why, sir, cobble you. FLAVIUS. Thou art a cobbler, art thou?

       SECOND COMMONER. 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 recover them. As proper men as ever trod upon neat's leather have gone upon my handiwork.

       FLAVIUS. But wherefore art not in thy shop today? Why dost thou lead these men about the streets?

       SECOND COMMONER. 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.

       MARULLUS. 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 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

       2

       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.

       FLAVIUS. 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 Commoners. See whether their basest metal be not moved; 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.

       MARULLUS. May we do so?

       You know it is the feast of Lupercal. FLAVIUS. It is no matter; let no images

      

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