Tragedies. King Lear. Othello. Julius Ceasar / Трагедии. Король Лир. Отелло. Юлий Цезарь. Уильям Шекспир

      PINDARUS, servant to Cassius.

      CALPURNIA, wife to Cæsar.

      PORTIA, wife to Brutus.

      Act I

      Scene I

      Rome. A street.

      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?

      FIRST COMMONER

      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 COMMONER

      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 COMMONER

      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 COMMONER

      Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me: yet,

      if you be out, sir, I can mend you.

      MARULLUS

      What meanest thou by that? mend me, thou saucy fellow!

      SECOND COMMONER

      Why, sir, cobble you.

      FLAVIUS

      Thou art a cobbler, art thou?

      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.

      FLAVIUS

      But wherefore art not in thy shop today?

      Why dost thou lead these men about 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.

      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 livelong 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.

      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.

      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.

      MARULLUS

      May we do so?

      You know it is 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.

      Exeunt

      Scene II

      A public place.

      Flourish. Enter CAESAR; ANTONY, for the course; CALPURNIA, PORTIA, DECIUS BRUTUS, CICERO, BRUTUS, CASSIUS, and CASCA; a great crowd following, among them a Soothsayer

      CAESAR

      Calpurnia!

      CASCA

      Peace, ho! Caesar speaks.

      CAESAR

      Calpurnia!

      CALPURNIA

      Here, my lord.

      CAESAR

      Stand you directly in Antonius’ way,

      When he doth run his course. Antonius!

      ANTONY

      Caesar, my lord?

      CAESAR

      Forget not, in your speed, Antonius,

      To touch Calpurnia; for our elders