So, (hopefully) all of you know the play Julius Caesar by William Shakespeare, right? I went to an actual play of it and decided to try and make it at least semi-readable. And this is what happened. By the way, all of the dialogue is the original dialogue by Shakespeare. I only wrote the in-between parts. Oh, and sorry that some random letters are missing. Something got messed up with it.
by William Shakespeare as told by Arthur Walterson
A note about this narrative:
As “sacrilege” as some of you may view this, I believe that this actually helps the story. Reading Shakespeare plays should be (and sometime are) required reading in schools, but it can be laborious reading each character and keeping them straight in your head. To let you concerned people out there know, all the dialogue is the dialogue that Shakespeare wrote. I have merely put in into a more readable format.
Our tale opens in Rome in 44 B.C., on a street corner loaded with passersby. Two men, tributaries named Flavius and Marullus, started yelling at them in a hight of passion.
Hence! home, you idle creatures, get you home!
s this a holiday? What! know you not,
eing mechanical, you ought not walk
pon a laboring day without the sign
f your profession?–Speak, what trade art thou?” Flavius directed his finger towards a man carrying an armload of wood.
The man responded, “Why, sir, a carpenter.”
Marullus took up the interrogation, saying, “Where is thy leather apron and thy rule?
hat dost thou with thy best apparel on?” He then turned his attention to another passerby. “
ou, sir; what trade are you?”
“Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but, as you
ould say, a cobbler.” The man said with as much respect as he could muster. Meanwhile, seeing that the tribunes were distracted, took off as discreetly as he could while carrying the wood.
But Marullus wasn’t done with him. “But what trade art thou? Answer me directly.”
“A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use with a safe
onscience, which is indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles.”
Marullus was getting irritated. “What trade, thou knave? Thou naughty knave, what trade?”
The cobbler, as well, was irritated, and decided to risk a bit of a joke. “Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me; yet,
f you be out, sir, I can mend you.”
Marullus was more than irritated now, he was irate. “What mean’st thou by that? Mend me, thou saucy fellow!”
The cobbler quickly recovered himself with, “Why, sir, cobble you.”
Flavius, with a slightly cooler head, broke in and said, “
hou art a cobbler, art thou?” He took Marullus by the shoulder and pulled him back slightly, keeping a firm hand ready if he would spring.
The cobbler turned to Flavius saying, “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.
am indeed, sir, a surgeon to old shoes; when they are in
reat danger, I re-cover them. As proper men as ever trod upon neat’s-leather have gone upon my handiwork.”
Several of the passersby had stopped to watch the scene. Flavius stepped forward, next to Marullus while still keeping his hand on Marullus’ shoulder. “But wherefore art not in thy shop today?
hy dost thou lead these men about the streets?”
The cobbler, pleased to be talking to a more level headed man, said, “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, having watched the conversation, had calmed considerably, and spoke up again. “Wherefore rejoice? What conquest brings he home?
hat tributaries follow him to Rome,
o grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels?
ou blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things!
you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome,
new you not Pompey? Many a time and oft
ave you climb’d up to walls and battlements,
o towers and windows, yea, to chimney tops,
our infants in your arms, and there have sat
he livelong day with patient expectation
o see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome.
nd when you saw his chariot but appear,
ave you not made an universal shout
hat Tiber trembled underneath her banks
o hear the replication of your sounds
ade in her concave shores?
nd do you now put on your best attire?
nd do you now cull out a holiday?
nd do you now strew flowers in his way
hat comes in triumph over Pompey’s blood?
un to your houses, fall upon your knees,
ray to the gods to intermit the plague
hat needs must light on this ingratitude.”