READ STUDY GUIDE: Act I, scene i |
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Act I, Scene i:
Rome. A street.
Rome. A street.
| [Enter Flavius, Marullus, and a Throng of Citizens.] |
| 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 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? |
| SECOND 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. |
| SECOND 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? |
| SECOND CITIZEN: |
| 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 CITIZEN: |
| Why, sir, cobble you. |
| FLAVIUS: |
| Thou art a cobbler, art thou? |
| SECOND CITIZEN: |
| 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 re-cover 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 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 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 |
| 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 CITIZENS.] |
| 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 |
| 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 fearfulness. |
| [Exeunt.] |
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