FLAVIUS.
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.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE II. The same. A public place.
Enter, in procession, with music, Caesar; Antony, for the course; Calphurnia, Portia, Decius, Cicero, Brutus, Cassius and Casca; a great crowd following, among them a Soothsayer.
CAESAR.
Calphurnia.
CASCA.
Peace, ho! Caesar speaks.
[Music ceases.]
CAESAR.
Calphurnia.
CALPHURNIA.
Here, my lord.
CAESAR.
Stand you directly in Antonius’ way,
When he doth run his course. Antonius.