And when you saw his chariot but appear.
Have you not made a universal shout, 48
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? 52
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! 56
Run to your houses, fall upon your knees,
Pray to the gods to intermit the plague
That needs must light on this ingratitude.
Flav. Go, go, good countrymen, and for this fault 60
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. 64
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 68
If you do find them deck'd with ceremonies.
Mar. May we do so?
You know it is the feast of Lupercal.
Flav. It is no matter; let no images 72
Be hung with Cæsar's trophies, I'll about
And drive away the vulgar from the streets:
So do you too where you perceive them thick.
49 her; cf. n.
50 replication: echo
53 cull out: choose this as
55 Pompey's blood; cf. n. on line 35
69 ceremonies: ceremonial trappings
71 Lupercal; cf. n.
