LITMIR.BIZ

       German

       ACT I

       Table of Contents

SCENE I

       Table of Contents

       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 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?

      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!

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