Julius Caesar Act 1 Scene 1
Rome. A street.
The Original
Plain Modern English
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 labouring day without the sign
Of your profession? Speak, what trade art thou?
Flavius
Go on — get home, you lazy things, get home!
Is this a holiday? Don't you know
that as working men you shouldn't be out
on a working day without the tools
that mark your trade? You — what's your trade?
First Commoner
Why, sir, a carpenter.
First Commoner
A carpenter, sir.
Marullus
Where is thy leather apron and thy rule?
What dost thou with thy best apparel on?
You, sir, what trade are you?
Marullus
Where's your leather apron and your ruler?
What are you doing in your Sunday best?
And you, sir — what's your trade?
Second Commoner
Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but,
as you would say, a cobbler.
Second Commoner
Honestly, sir, compared to a really skilled man, I'm only
what you'd call a cobbler. (Also meant 'a bungler.' He's being slippery from the first word.)
Marullus
But what trade art thou? answer me directly.
Marullus
But what IS your trade? Answer me straight.
Second Commoner
A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use with a safe
conscience; which is, indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles.
Second Commoner
A trade, sir, that I hope I can practise with a clear
conscience — I am, sir, a mender of bad soles. (Soles/souls. He's telling a magistrate he saves souls.)
Marullus
What trade, thou knave? thou naughty knave, what trade?
Marullus
What trade, you rascal? You wicked rascal, what trade?
Second Commoner
Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me: yet,
if you be out, sir, I can mend you.
Second Commoner
Now, please, sir, don't be out with me. Though
if you are out, sir, I can mend you. ('Out' = angry, and also worn through at the toe.)
Marullus
What meanest thou by that? mend me, thou saucy fellow!
Marullus
What do you mean by that? Mend ME, you cheeky devil?
Second Commoner
Why, sir, cobble you.
Second Commoner
Why, sir — cobble you.
Flavius
Thou art a cobbler, art thou?
Flavius
So you're a cobbler, are you?
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.
Second Commoner
Honestly, sir, I live entirely by the awl. I
don't meddle in other tradesmen's business, nor women's
business — only with awl. I'm a surgeon
to old shoes, sir. When they're in serious danger,
I recover them. Fine men as ever walked in
leather have walked on my work. ('Awl' sounds like 'all'; 'recover' means both cure and re-leather.)
Flavius
But wherefore art not in thy shop today?
Why dost thou lead these men about the streets?
Flavius
But why aren't you in your shop today?
Why are you leading these men through 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.
Second Commoner
Honestly, sir, to wear out their shoes and get myself
more work. But truly, sir, we're taking a holiday
to see Caesar and celebrate his victory.
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 live-long 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.
Marullus
Celebrate what? What conquest is he bringing home?
What conquered kings are following him to Rome
in chains, to decorate his chariot wheels?
You blocks! You stones! You things worse than lifeless!
Oh, you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome —
didn't you know Pompey? Many and many a time
you climbed up onto walls and battlements,
onto towers and windows, even chimney tops,
with your babies in your arms, and sat there
the whole day long, waiting patiently
to see great Pompey pass through the streets of Rome.
And when you merely glimpsed his chariot,
didn't you all roar together so loudly
that the Tiber shook beneath its banks
to hear the echo of your shouting
bouncing off its hollow shores?
And now you put on your best clothes?
And now you pick out a day to celebrate?
And now you scatter flowers in the path
of the man who triumphs over Pompey's own sons? Get out!
Run home, fall on your knees,
and pray the gods hold back the plague
that must surely fall on such 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.
Flavius
Go on, go, good countrymen — and for this fault
gather all the poor men of your kind,
take them down to the Tiber's banks and weep
into the river until the water at its lowest
rises to touch the highest banks.
Exeunt all the Commoners.
Flavius
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.
Flavius
See how even the cheapest metal in them is stirred.
They slink off speechless with guilt.
You go that way, toward the Capitol.
I'll go this way and strip the statues
if you find them decorated with ceremonial scarves.
Marullus
May we do so?
You know it is the feast of Lupercal.
Marullus
Are we allowed to do that?
You know it's 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.
Flavius
It doesn't matter. Don't let any statue
be hung with Caesar's decorations. I'll go round
and drive the common people off the streets.
You do the same wherever you find them crowding.
Plucking these new feathers from Caesar's wing
will keep him flying at an ordinary height.
Otherwise he'd soar out of sight of ordinary men
and keep us all in slavish terror.
Exeunt.