Who were the motives that you first went out, (Shame that they wanted, cunning in excesse) Hath broke their hearts. March, Noble Lord, Into our City with thy Banners spred, Which Nature loathes, take thou the destin'd tenth, Let dye the spotted. I All have not offended: For those that were, it is not square to take On those that are, Revenge: Crimes, like Lands Thou rather shalt inforce it with thy smile, Then hew too't, with thy Sword. Set but thy foot Against our rampyr'd gates, and they shall ope: So thou wilt send thy gentle heart before, To say thou't enter Friendly. 2 Or any Throw thy Glove, Token of thine Honour else, That thou wilt use the warres as thy redresse, And not as our Confusion: All thy Powers Alc. Then there's my Glove, Desend and open your uncharged Ports, Whom you your selves shall set out for reproofe, Both. "Tis most Nobly spoken. Alc. Descend, and keepe your words. Enter a Messenger. Mes. My Noble Generall, Timon is dead, Alcibiades reades the Epitaph. Heere lies a wretched Coarse, of wretched Soule bereft, Passe by, and curse thy fill, but passe and stay not here thy gate. These well expresse in thee thy latter spirits: aye Though thou abhorrd'st in us our humane griefes, Citie, Make war breed peace; make peace stint war, make each Let our Drummes strike. Exeunt. THE TRAGEDIE OF JULIUS CAESAR. Actus Primus. Scana Prima. Enter Flavius, Murellus, and certaine Commoners over the Stage. Ence: home you idle Creatures, get you home : Of your Profession? Speake, what Trade art thou ? Mar. Where is thy Leather Apron, and thy Rule? What dost thou with thy best Apparrell on ? You sir, what Trade are you? you Cobl. Truely Sir, in respect of a fine Workman, I am but as would say, a Cobler. Mur. But what Trade art thou? Answer me directly. Cob. A Trade Sir, that I hope I may use, with a safe Conscience, which is indeed Sir, a Mender of bad soules. Fla. What Trade thou knave? Thou naughty knave, what Trade? Cobl. Nay I beseech you Sir, be not out with me: yet if you be out Sir, I can mend you. Mur. What mean'st thou by that? Mend mee, thou sawcy Fellow? Cob. Why sir, Cobble you. Fla. Thou art a Cobler, art thou? Cob. Truly sir, all that I live by, is with the Aule: I meddle with no Tradesmans matters, nor womens matters; but withal I am indeed Sir, a Surgeon to old shooes: when they are in great danger, I recover them. As proper men as ever trod upon Neats Leather, have gone upon my handy-worke. Fla. But wherefore art not in thy Shop to day? Why do'st thou leade these men about the streets? Cob. Truly sir, to weare out their shooes, to get my selfe into more worke. But indeede sir, we make Holyday to see Casar, and to rejoyce in his Triumph. Mur. Wherefore rejoyce? What Conquest brings he home? What Tributaries follow him to Rome, To grace in Captive bonds his Chariot Wheeles? You Blockes, you stones, you worse then senslesse things: you hard hearts, you cruell men of Rome, Knew you not Pompey many a time and oft? And do you now put on your best attyre? Be gone, Runne to your houses, fall upon your knees, |