Enter Flavius, Marullus and a throng of Citizens.
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 labouring day without the sign
Of your profession? Speak, what trade art thou?
CARPENTER.
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?
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.
MARULLUS.
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!