Flavius speaks in controlled, measured verse — the voice of institutional authority trying to hold the line. Watch for how quickly his rhetoric turns from order to fear: he ends the scene talking about Caesar soaring above 'the view of men.'
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?
Get out of here! Go home, you lazy lot. Is this supposed to be a holiday? Don't you know that you working-class people aren't supposed to be walking around on a regular working day without showing something that marks your profession? Tell me, what's your job?
Hey, go home! All of you, get out of here. Is this some kind of holiday or something? You tradeworkers shouldn't be wandering around town on a working day without showing what you do. So what do you work as?
get out, go home you can't be out working without showing your trade what's your job?
Why, sir, a carpenter.
Well, sir, I'm a carpenter.
Carpentry's my work, sir.
i'm a carpenter
Marullus speaks in sweeping, emotional oratory — he can't help himself, he genuinely cares. His long speech to the crowd is the play's first piece of political speechmaking, and it fails completely. Watch how easily Antony will do to the crowd what Marullus cannot.
Where is thy leather apron and thy rule?
What dost thou with thy best apparel on?
You, sir, what trade are you?
Where's your leather apron and measuring tool? Why are you wearing your best clothes? You there, what's your trade?
Where's your leather apron and ruler? Why are you dressed in your best? What do you do for work?
where's your apron? why the fancy outfit? what's your trade?
The scene opens on the feast of Lupercalia (February 15), one of Rome's oldest and strangest festivals. Priests called Luperci ran nearly naked through the streets of Rome, striking women with strips of goatskin called 'februa' — women who wanted children would line the streets hoping to be struck, believing it would increase their fertility. The festival was ancient even in Caesar's time, possibly pre-Roman in origin. Shakespeare uses it because it's the setting for the crown-offering that Casca describes in 1-2: Antony offered Caesar the crown three times during this frenzied public ritual. The choice of this particular festival isn't accidental — there's something about primal power, fertility, the stripping away of normal social order, that Shakespeare wants in the air. The whole scene is about Caesar as a force of nature that the tribunes are trying to contain. The Lupercalia is when Rome's old restraints come off.
Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but, as you would say, a
cobbler.
Well, sir, compared to a really skilled craftsman, I'm just what you'd call a cobbler.
Honestly, compared to really good craftsmen, I'm just a cobbler.
i'm just a cobbler, not fancy
But what trade art thou? Answer me directly.
But what is your trade? Answer me straight.
But what's your trade? Just tell me directly.
what's your trade? answer me
A trade, sir, that I hope I may use with a safe conscience, which is
indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles.
A trade, sir, that I hope I can practice in good conscience—which is indeed to repair worn-out shoe soles.
It's a trade I can do with a clean conscience, honestly—I repair worn-out soles.
i fix shoe soles and my conscience is clean
What trade, thou knave? Thou naughty knave, what trade?
What trade, you rascal? You naughty rascal, what trade?
What's your trade, you troublemaker? You mischievous fool, what is it?
what's your trade you troublemaker?
The scene opens with what looks like comedy — a cobbler running rings around two pompous officials with puns. But Shakespeare is doing something more precise than comic relief. The cobbler is genuinely clever, genuinely self-possessed, and completely unintimidated by the tribunes' authority. His puns aren't just jokes: they're a form of resistance. When Marullus finally delivers his great speech about Pompey, the crowd silently disperses — not converted, not shamed, just gone. The cobbler, who has been the crowd's spokesperson, simply melts away. The tribunes have said everything right and accomplished nothing. This failure is the opening beat of the play's real argument: rhetoric that doesn't connect to what an audience actually wants is useless. Antony will figure out what the crowd wants. Brutus, like Marullus, will not.
Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me; yet, if you be out, sir, I
can mend you.
No, I'm asking you, sir, don't be angry with me; but if your shoes are worn out, sir, I can repair them.
Please, sir, don't be mad at me; but if you need repairs, I can fix things for you.
don't be mad at me if you need fixing, i got you
What mean’st thou by that? Mend me, thou saucy fellow!
What do you mean by that? Repair me, you cheeky fellow!
What are you getting at? Fix me up, you bold talker!
what do you mean? fix me up yourself
Why, sir, cobble you.
Well, sir, I'll fix your shoes.
I'll repair your shoes, sir.
i'll cobble your shoes
Thou art a cobbler, art thou?
You're a cobbler, are you?
So you're a cobbler?
you're a cobbler?
Marullus's speech invokes Pompey the Great — Caesar's rival, who was murdered in Egypt after losing the civil war at Pharsalus in 48 BC. The Roman civil war between Caesar and Pompey tore the Republic apart; it was the defining political catastrophe of the previous generation. When Caesar triumphed over Pompey's surviving sons in Spain (the battle that this triumph celebrates), it was the final chapter of that war. But it was also a triumph over other Romans — and technically, Roman law prohibited triumphs over Roman citizens, only over foreign enemies. Marullus is pointing at something real: Caesar is bending the rules of the Republic even in how he celebrates his victories. The crowd who once cheered Pompey now cheers Caesar not because they're evil but because they genuinely don't know what to think — their world has been remade and they're following whoever seems to be in charge. This is the crowd Antony will understand completely.
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.
Truly, sir, everything I make a living from involves the awl; I don't interfere in other craftsmen's affairs or women's matters, but indeed, sir, I'm a surgeon to old shoes: when they're in serious trouble, I restore them. As fine a group of men as ever walked on leather have worn shoes that came from my work.
Honestly, sir, I make my whole living with an awl; I don't get involved in other people's business, but I'm really a doctor for old shoes—when they're falling apart, I bring them back to life. Some genuinely respectable men have walked around in shoes I've fixed.
i live by the awl don't do other people's business i'm a surgeon to old shoes respectable men wear my work
But wherefore art not in thy shop today?
Why dost thou lead these men about the streets?
But why aren't you in your shop today? Why are you leading these men around the streets?
But why aren't you working in your shop? Why are you out here leading all these people through the streets?
why aren't you in your shop? why you leading people around?
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.
Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes so I'll have more work to do. But honestly, sir, we're taking a holiday to see Caesar and celebrate his triumph.
Well, sir, to wear out their shoe soles and get more business. But really, sir, we're taking the day off to watch Caesar and celebrate his victory.
wear their shoes out get more work but we're here for caesar's triumph
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 climb’d 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.
Why celebrate? What conquest does he bring home? What subject nations follow him to Rome to decorate his chariot wheels in captured chains? You are like blocks and stones, worse than things without feeling! O you with hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome, didn't you know Pompey? Many times and often you've climbed up to walls and battlements, to towers and windows, even chimney tops, holding your babies in your arms, and sat there all day long waiting patiently to see great Pompey pass through Rome's streets. And when you saw his chariot just appear, didn't you all shout together so loudly that the Tiber River shook beneath her banks at hearing the echo of your voices in her curved shores? And do you now put on your best clothes? And do you now choose to take a holiday? And do you now scatter flowers in his path, he who triumphs over Pompey's death? Get out of here! Run to your houses, fall on your knees, pray to the gods to stop the plague that must surely fall on this betrayal.
Why should we celebrate? What conquest is Caesar bringing home? What conquered nations are following him to Rome, adorning his chariot wheels with captured slaves? You people are like stones and blocks—worse than things with no feeling! You cruel, hard-hearted men of Rome, remember Pompey? How many times did you climb up to walls and battlements, to towers and windows, even chimney tops, holding your children in your arms, sitting there all day waiting to see Pompey go through the streets of Rome? And when his chariot appeared, didn't you all shout so loudly the Tiber River itself shook at the sound of your voices echoing off her banks? And now you're putting on your best clothes? Now you're taking the day off? Now you're throwing flowers before Caesar, the man who conquered Pompey? Get out of here! Go home, kneel down, and pray to the gods to forgive you for this terrible betrayal.
why celebrate caesar? what conquest? what slaves? you forgot pompey already? you used to wait all day for him shout so loud the river shook and now you celebrate his death? go home get on your knees pray the gods forgive you
Notice that Flavius and Marullus speak in blank verse (unrhymed iambic pentameter) while the Cobbler speaks in prose. This is Shakespeare's consistent social-register system: educated, upper-class characters speak verse; working-class characters speak prose. Except the cobbler is sharper than the tribunes — his prose runs circles around their verse. Shakespeare is already undermining his own class hierarchy from scene one. The verse-speakers have all the authority and none of the wit; the prose-speaker has no authority and all the wit. This will matter enormously in 3-2, when Brutus (verse/prose, carefully calibrated) addresses the crowd versus Antony (prose that sounds like verse, verse that hits like prose). The question of who gets to speak which way, and what that means, is threaded through the whole play.
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.
Go, go, good countrymen, and for this error, gather all the poor men of your kind, lead them to the Tiber banks, and let your tears flow into the river until the lowest water level kisses the highest shores.
Go on now, good people, and for this mistake, bring together all the working people like yourselves, take them down to the Tiber's banks, and cry your tears into the river until it rises all the way to the top.
go, go gather the poor lead them to the tiber cry so much the river rises
See whether their basest metal be not mov’d;
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 deck’d with ceremonies.
Notice whether their base character hasn't been moved by what we've said; they disappear silently, crushed by guilt. You go down that way toward the Capitol, and I'll go this way. Remove the ceremonial decorations from those statues if you find any.
Look, can you tell if any of this has gotten through to them? They're leaving without a word, totally ashamed. You go down that way to the Capitol, I'll head this way. Strip the decorations off those statues.
see how ashamed they are? they're leaving in silence you go down to the capitol i'm going this way strip the decorations off the statues
May we do so?
You know it is the feast of Lupercal.
Can we do that? You know today is the feast of Lupercal.
Can we do that? But it's Lupercal today, the festival.
can we? it's lupercal day
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 pluck’d 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.
It doesn't matter; let no statues be decorated with Caesar's trophies. I'll go around and drive the common people from the streets; you do the same wherever you see them gathered. These growing symbols of power stripped from Caesar's image will make him fly at a normal height, he who would otherwise soar above men's sight and keep us all in fearful slavery.
It doesn't matter; keep Caesar's statues from being decorated with his trophies. I'll go around and clear the common people off the streets; you do the same wherever you find them gathered. If we remove these symbols of his power from Caesar, we'll bring him down to normal level—instead of soaring above everyone and keeping us all enslaved by fear.
don't decorate statues with caesar's trophies get the people off the streets strip caesar of these symbols get him down to normal he can't keep ruling through fear
The Reckoning
Shakespeare opens not with Caesar but with the people — and immediately shows us that the people are unreliable. They cheered Pompey once; now they cheer his conqueror. Marullus's rage at their ingratitude is genuine and moving. But we are left uneasy: if the crowd is this fickle, what does that mean for whatever comes next?
If this happened today…
Imagine a city's biggest sports team just lost the championship — the beloved coach was fired, the owner is the new hero. Fans who had 'RIP Coach' posts on Instagram six months ago are now wearing the owner's merchandise and lining the streets for a victory parade. Two old-school journalists refuse to cover it, corner some fans outside, and lecture them about loyalty. The fans just shrug and walk away. The journalists file a sharply-worded op-ed and go tear down some sponsored banners.