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The end of Brutus is associated with the incident. of Lucilius ready to die for him; and in his own last farewell with the comfort of the man who earned the trust of all,

"My heart doth joy, that yet, in all my life,
I found no man, but he was true to me."

Brutus, too, dies upon the sword with which he had stabbed Cæsar:

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Cæsar, now be still :

I killed not thee with half so good a will."

And his praise comes from the lips of his opponent:

"Antony. This was the noblest Roman of them all: All the conspirators, save only he,

Did that they did in envy of great Cæsar;

He only, in a general honest thought

Of common good to all, made one of them.
His life was gentle; and the elements

So mixed in him, that Nature might stand up
And say to all the world, "This was a man."

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If even Brutus, seeking with the noblest motives to make evil his good, found that evil sown was evil reaped, still less can men of lower lives hope for success in an attempt to advance public good by means that, if suggested for their private There is no good, they would avoid as infamous. distinction between private and public morality. No politician can make it without damaging his H. M.

cause.

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SCENE.-During a great part of the Play, at ROME: afterwards near SARDIS, and near PHILIPPI.

ACT I.

SCENE I.-Rome.

A Street.

Enter FLAVIUS, MARULLUS, and certain Com

moners over the Stage.

Flav. 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? 1 Cit. Why, sir, a carpenter.

Mar. Where is thy leather apron and thy rule? What dost thou with thy best apparel on?---You, sir, what trade are you?

2 Cit. Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but, as you would say, a cobbler.

Mar. But what trade art thou? answer me directly.

2 Cit. A trade, sir, that I hope I may use with a safe conscience; which is, indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles.

Mar. What trade, thou knave? thou naughty

knave, what trade?

2 Cit. Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with

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

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Mar. What mean'st thou by that? mend me, thou saucy fellow?

2 Cit. Why, sir, cobble you.

Flav. Thou art a cobbler, art thou?

2 Cit. 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 re-cover them. As proper men as ever trod upon neat's-leather have gone upon my handiwork.

Flav. But wherefore art not in thy shop to-day? Why dost thou lead these men about the streets?

2 Cit. 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.

Mar. 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!

you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome,

Knew you not Pompey? Many a time and oft
Have you climbed 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,

you

Have
That Tiber trembled underneath her banks

not made an universal shout,

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.

Flav. 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, whe'r their basest metal be not moved : They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness.

Go down that you

way

towards the Capitol :

This way will I disrobe the images

If you do find them decked with ceremonies.

Mar. May we do so?

You know it is the feast of Lupercal.

Flav. It is no matter; let no images
Be hung with Cæsar's trophies. I'll about,
And drive away the vulgar from the streets;

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