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Hence! Home, you idle creatures, get you home!

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 laboring day without the sign
Of your profession?—Speak, what trade art thou?
Carpenter
Why, sir, a carpenter.

Wherefore rejoice? What conquest brings he home?
What tributaries follow him to Rome,
To grace in captive bonds his chariot-wheels?

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 mean’st 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?Pysma

You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things!
O you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome,
Knew you not Pompey?Anaphora
Many a time and oftHendiadys
Have you climb'd up to walls and battlements,
To tow'rs and windows, yea, to chimney-tops,
Your infants in your arms, and there have sate
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,
PersonificationThat Tiber trembled underneath her banks
To hear the replication of your sounds
Made in her concave shores?
AnaphoraAnd 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?Pysma

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.Isocolon