Rome. A Street.
 Enter FLAVIUS, MARULLUS, a COBBLER, a CARPENTER,
 and certain other COMMONERS over the stage.

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 labouring day without the sign
	Of your profession? Speak, what trade art thou?

1st Citizen	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?

2nd Citizen	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.

2nd Citizen	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?

2nd Citizen	Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me; yet if you be 
	out, sir, I can mend you.

Marullus	What meanest thou by that? Mend me, thou saucy fellow!

2nd Citizen	Why, sir, cobble you.

Flavius	Thou art a cobbler, art thou?

2nd Citizen	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.

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

2nd Citizen	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 climbed 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 a 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.

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 the COMMONERS.
	See whe'er 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 decked with ceremonies.

Marullus	May we do so?
	You know it is the feast of Lupercal.

Flavius	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 plucked 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 fearfulness.
													[Exeunt.
