Jealous conspirators convince Caesar's friend Brutus to join their assassination plot against Caesar. To stop Caesar from gaining too much power, Brutus and the conspirators kill him on the Ides of March. Mark Antony drives the conspirators out of Rome and fights them in a battle. Brutus and his friend Cassius lose and kill themselves, leaving Antony to rule in Rome. Enter Flavius, Marullus, and certain Commoners.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? FIRST COMMONER. 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? SECOND COMMONER. 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. SECOND COMMONER. A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use with a safe conscience, which is indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles. MARULLUS. What trade, thou knave? Thou naughty knave, what trade? SECOND COMMONER. 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 SECOND COMMONER. Why, sir, cobble you. FLAVIUS. Thou art a cobbler, art thou? SECOND COMMONER. 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 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? SECOND COMMONER. 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 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. 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.