Flavius, Marullus

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

CARPENTER. 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? 

COBBLER. 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. 

COBBLER. 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? 

COBBLER. 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! 

COBBLER. Why, sir, cobble you. 

FLAVIUS. Thou art a cobbler, art thou? 

COBBLER. 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? 

COBBLER. 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 

 Prev. P 2/72 next