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 ? Thou art a cobbler , art thou ? But wherefore art not in thy shop today ? Why dost thou lead these men about the streets ? 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 . See whether their basest metal be not moved ; 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 . 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 .