1. SCENE I. Rome. A street.
[Enter Flavius, Marullus, and a Throng of Citizens.]
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?
Why, sir, a carpenter.
Where is thy leather apron and thy rule?
What dost thou with thy best apparel on?--
You, sir; what trade are you?
Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but, as you
would say, a cobbler.
But what trade art thou? Answer me directly.
A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use with a safe
conscience, which is indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles.
What trade, thou knave? Thou naughty knave, what trade?
Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me; yet,
if you be out, sir, I can mend you.
What mean'st thou by that? Mend me, thou saucy fellow!
Why, sir, cobble you.
Thou art a cobbler, art thou?
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.
But wherefore art not in thy shop today?
Why dost thou lead these men about the streets?
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.