Julius Caesar is a tragedy by William Shakespeare that shows the conspiracy against Julius Caesar and his murder.
Although the main character is Julius Caesar, he doesn’t play a big role in the play; after appearing a couple of times he dies in the beginning of the third scene. The central figure (and the longest role) belongs to the main conspirator Brutus who struggles with the feelings of honour, patriotism and friendship. Last Caesar’s words «Et tu, Brute» (“And you, Brutus?”) is one of the most famous line in the tragedy.
Julius Caesar
Octavius Caesar, Marcus Antonius, M. Aemilius Lepidus, triumvirs after the death of Julius Caesar
Cicero, Publius, Popilius Lena, senators
Marcus Brutus, Caius Cassius, Casca, Trebonius, Ligarius, Decius Brutus, Metellus Cimber, Cinna, conspirators against Julius Caesar
Flavius and Marullus, tribunes
Artemidorus, a sophist of Cnidos
A Soothsayer
Cinna, a poet
Another Poet
Lucilius, Titinius, Messala, Young Cato, Volumnius, friends to Brutus and Cassius
Varro, Clitus, Claudius, Strato, Lucius, Dardanius, servants to Brutus
Pindarus, servant to Cassius
Calpurnia, wife to Caesar
Portia, wife to Brutus
Commoners, or Plebeians, of Rome; Senators, Guards, Attendants, etc.
Scene: Rome, Asia Minor, the plains near Philippi, in Macedonia
Enter Flavius, Marullus, and certain commoners over the stage.
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?
Carpenter
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?
Cobbler
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.
Cobbler
A trade, sir, that, I hope I may use with a safe
conscience; which is, indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles.
Flavius
What trade, thou knave? Thou naughty knave, what trade?
Cobbler
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?
Cobbler
Why, sir, cobble you.
Flavius
Thou art a cobbler, art thou?
Cobbler
Truly, sir, all that I live by is with the awl: I
meddle with no tradesman's matters, nor women's matters;
but withal 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?
Cobbler
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 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,
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 where their basest mettle 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 decked 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 plucked 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