Julius Caesar by William Shakespeare (good english books to read .txt) 📕
- Author: William Shakespeare
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By William Shakespeare.
Table of Contents Titlepage Imprint Dramatis Personae Julius Caesar Act I Scene I Scene II Scene III Act II Scene I Scene II Scene III Scene IV Act III Scene I Scene II Scene III Act IV Scene I Scene II Scene III Act V Scene I Scene II Scene III Scene IV Scene V Colophon Uncopyright ImprintThis ebook is the product of many hours of hard work by volunteers for Standard Ebooks, and builds on the hard work of other literature lovers made possible by the public domain.
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Dramatis PersonaeJulius Caesar
Octavius Caesar, triumvir after the death of Julius Caesar
Marcus Antonius, triumvir after the death of Julius Caesar
M. Aemilius Lepidus, triumvir after the death of Julius Caesar
Cicero, senator
Publius, senator
Popilius Lena, senator
Marcus Brutus, conspirator against Julius Caesar
Cassius, conspirator against Julius Caesar
Casca, conspirator against Julius Caesar
Trebonius, conspirator against Julius Caesar
Ligarius, conspirator against Julius Caesar
Decius Brutus, conspirator against Julius Caesar
Metellus Cimber, conspirator against Julius Caesar
Cinna, conspirator against Julius Caesar
Flavius and Marullus, tribunes
Artemidorus of Cnidos, a teacher of rhetoric
A Soothsayer
Cinna, a poet. Another poet
Lucilius, friend to Brutus and Cassius
Titinius, friend to Brutus and Cassius
Messala, friend to Brutus and Cassius
Young Cato, friend to Brutus and Cassius
Volumnius, friend to Brutus and Cassius
Varro, servant to Brutus
Clitus, servant to Brutus
Claudius, servant to Brutus
Strato, servant to Brutus
Lucius, servant to Brutus
Dardanius, servant to Brutus
Pindarus, servant to Cassius
Calpurnia, wife to Caesar
Portia, wife to Brutus
Senators, citizens, guards, attendants, etc.
Scene: Rome; the neighbourbood of Sardis; the neighbourbood of Philippi.
Julius Caesar Act I Scene IRome. A street.
Enter Flavius, Marullus, and certain Commoners. FlaviusHence! 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?
Where is thy leather apron and thy rule?
What dost thou with thy best apparel on?
You, sir, what trade are you?
But wherefore art not in thy shop to-day?
Why dost thou lead these men about the streets?
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.
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. Exeunt all the Commoners.
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.
May we do so?
You know it is the feast of Lupercal.
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. Exeunt.
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