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    Julius Caesar
    Julius Caesar
    Julius Caesar
    Ebook97 pages1 hour

    Julius Caesar

    By William Shakespeare

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    Julius Caesar is a tragedy by William Shakespeare, believed to have been written in 1599. It portrays the conspiracy against the Roman dictator of the same name, his assassination and its aftermath. It is one of several Roman plays that he wrote, based on true events from Roman history, which also include Coriolanus and Antony and Cleopatra.Although the title of the play is Julius Caesar, Caesar is not the central character in its action; he appears in only three scenes, and is killed at the beginning of the third act. The protagonist of the play is Marcus Brutus, and the central psychological drama is his struggle between the conflicting demands of honour, patriotism, and friendship.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJH
    Release dateMar 24, 2019
    ISBN9788834103340
    Author

    William Shakespeare

    William Shakespeare is the world's greatest ever playwright. Born in 1564, he split his time between Stratford-upon-Avon and London, where he worked as a playwright, poet and actor. In 1582 he married Anne Hathaway. Shakespeare died in 1616 at the age of fifty-two, leaving three children—Susanna, Hamnet and Judith. The rest is silence.

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      Book preview

      Julius Caesar - William Shakespeare

      Julius Caesar

      William Shakespeare

      .

      The Tragedie of Julius Caesar

      Actus Primus. Scoena Prima.

      Enter Flauius, Murellus, and certaine Commoners ouer the Stage.

        Flauius. Hence: home you idle Creatures, get you home:

      Is this a Holiday? What, know you not

      (Being Mechanicall) you ought not walke

      Vpon a labouring day, without the signe

      Of your Profession? Speake, what Trade art thou?

        Car. Why Sir, a Carpenter

        Mur. Where is thy Leather Apron, and thy Rule?

      What dost thou with thy best Apparrell on?

      You sir, what Trade are you?

        Cobl. Truely Sir, in respect of a fine Workman, I am

      but as you would say, a Cobler

      Mur. But what Trade art thou? Answer me directly

        Cob. A Trade Sir, that I hope I may vse, with a safe

      Conscience, which is indeed Sir, a Mender of bad soules

        Fla. What Trade thou knaue? Thou naughty knaue,

      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 liue 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 recouer them. As proper men as euer trod vpon Neats Leather, haue gone vpon 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 Caesar, and to reioyce in his Triumph

        Mur. Wherefore reioyce?

      What Conquest brings he home?

      What Tributaries follow him to Rome,

      To grace in Captiue bonds his Chariot Wheeles?

      You Blockes, you stones, you worse then senslesse things:

      O you hard hearts, you cruell men of Rome,

      Knew you not Pompey many a time and oft?

      Haue you climb'd vp to Walles and Battlements,

      To Towres and Windowes? Yea, to Chimney tops,

      Your Infants in your Armes, and there haue sate

      The liue-long day, with patient expectation,

      To see great Pompey passe the streets of Rome:

      And when you saw his Chariot but appeare,

      Haue you not made an Vniuersall shout,

      That Tyber trembled vnderneath her bankes

      To heare the replication of your sounds,

      Made in her Concaue Shores?

      And do you now put on your best attyre?

      And do you now cull out a Holyday?

      And do you now strew Flowers in his way,

      That comes in Triumph ouer Pompeyes blood?

      Be gone,

      Runne to your houses, fall vpon your knees,

      Pray to the Gods to intermit the plague

      That needs must light on this Ingratitude

        Fla. Go, go, good Countrymen, and for this fault

      Assemble all the poore men of your sort;

      Draw them to Tyber bankes, and weepe your teares

      Into the Channell, till the lowest streame

      Do kisse the most exalted Shores of all.

      Exeunt. all the Commoners.

      See where their basest mettle be not mou'd,

      They vanish tongue-tyed in their guiltinesse:

      Go you downe that way towards the Capitoll,

      This way will I: Disrobe the Images,

      If you do finde them deckt with Ceremonies

        Mur. May we do so?

      You know it is the Feast of Lupercall

        Fla. It is no matter, let no Images

      Be hung with Caesars Trophees: Ile about,

      And driue away the Vulgar from the streets;

      So do you too, where you perceiue them thicke.

      These growing Feathers, pluckt from Caesars wing,

      Will make him flye an ordinary pitch,

      Who else would soare aboue the view of men,

      And keepe vs all in seruile fearefulnesse.

      Exeunt.

      Enter Caesar, Antony for the Course, Calphurnia, Portia, Decius,

      Cicero,

      Brutus, Cassius, Caska, a Soothsayer: after them Murellus and

      Flauius.

      Caes. Calphurnia

      Cask. Peace ho, Caesar speakes

      Caes. Calphurnia

      Calp. Heere my Lord

        Caes. Stand you directly in Antonio's way,

      When he doth run his course. Antonio

      Ant. Cćsar, my Lord

        Caes. Forget not in your speed Antonio,

      To touch Calphurnia: for our Elders say,

      The Barren touched in this holy chace,

      Shake off their sterrile curse

        Ant. I shall remember,

      When Caesar sayes, Do this; it is perform'd

      Caes. Set on, and leaue no Ceremony out

      Sooth. Caesar

        Caes. Ha? Who calles?

        Cask. Bid euery noyse be still: peace yet againe

        Caes. Who is it in the presse, that calles on me?

      I heare a Tongue shriller then all the Musicke

      Cry, Caesar: Speake, Caesar is turn'd to heare

      Sooth. Beware the Ides of March

        Caes. What man is that?

        Br. A Sooth-sayer bids you beware the Ides of March

        Caes. Set him before me, let me see his face

      Cassi. Fellow, come from the throng, look vpon Caesar

        Caes. What sayst thou to me now? Speak once againe,

        Sooth. Beware the Ides of March

      Caes. He is a Dreamer, let vs leaue him: Passe.

      Sennet

      Exeunt. Manet Brut. & Cass.

        Cassi. Will you go see the order of the course?

        Brut. Not I

      Cassi. I pray you do

        Brut. I am not Gamesom: I do lacke some part

      Of that quicke Spirit that is in Antony:

      Let me not hinder Cassius your desires;

      Ile leaue you

        Cassi. Brutus, I do obserue you now of late:

      I haue not from your eyes, that gentlenesse

      And shew of Loue, as I was wont to haue:

      You beare too stubborne, and too strange a hand

      Ouer your Friend, that loues you

        Bru. Cassius,

      Be not deceiu'd: If I haue veyl'd my looke,

      I turne the trouble of my Countenance

      Meerely vpon my selfe. Vexed I am

      Of late, with passions of some difference,

      Conceptions onely proper to my selfe,

      Which giue some soyle (perhaps) to my Behauiours:

      But let not therefore my good Friends be greeu'd

      (Among which number Cassius be you one)

      Nor construe any further my neglect,

      Then that poore

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