Put up thy gold: go on,-here 's gold,―go on;
Be as a planetary plague, when Jove
Will o'er some high-vic'd city hang his poison
In the sick air: let not thy sword skip one.
Pity not honour'd age for his white beard;

But then renew I could not like the moon ;
There were no suns to borrow of.

Alcib. Noble Timon, what friendship may I do thee?

Tim. None, but to maintain my opinion.
Alcib. What is it, Timon?

70

matron ;

Your aprons mountant: you are not oathable, Although, I know, you'll swear, terribly swear Into strong shudders and to heavenly agues The immortal gods that hear you, spare your oaths,

I'll trust to your conditions: be whores still;
And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you,
Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up; 140
Let your close fire predominate his smoke,
And be no turncoats: yet may your pains, six
months,

Be quite contrary: and thatch your poor thin roofs

With burdens of the dead; some that were hang'd,

No matter; wear them, betray with them: whore still;

Paint till a horse may mire upon your face:
A pox of wrinkles!

Phr., Timan. Well, more gold. What then? Believe't, that we'll do any thing for gold. Tim. Consumptions sow

150

In hollow bones of man; strike their sharp shins,

And mar men's spurring. Crack the lawyer's voice,

That he may never more false title plead,
Nor sound his quillets shrilly: hoar the flamen,
That scolds against the quality of flesh,
And not believes himself: down with the nose,
Down with it flat; take the bridge quite away
Of him that, his particular to foresee,
Smells from the general weal: make curl'd-pate
ruffians bald;

And let the unscarr'd braggarts of the war 160
Derive some pain from you: plague all,
That your activity may defeat and quell
The source of all erection. There's more gold;
Do you damn others, and let this damn you,
And ditches grave you all!

Phr., Timan. More counsel with more money. bounteous Timon.

Tim. More whore, more mischief first; I have given you earnest.

Alcib. Strike up the drum towards Athens !
Farewell, Timon:

If I thrive well, I'll visit thee again.

Tim. If I hope well, I'll never see thee more. Alcib. I never did thee harm.

171

Tim. Yes, thou spok'st well of me.
Alcib.
Call'st thou that harm?
Tim. Men daily find it. Get thee away, and
take

Thy beagles with thee.

Alcib.
We but offend him. Strike!
Drum beats. Exeunt ALCIBIADES, PHRYNIA,
and TIMANDRA.
Tim. That nature, being sick of man's unkind.

190

Teem with new monsters, whom thy upward face
Hath to the marbled mansion all above
Never presented! O! a root; dear thanks:
Dry up thy marrows, vines, and plough-torn
leas;

Whereof ingrateful man, with liquorish draughts
And morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind,
That from it all consideration slips!
Enter APEMANTUS.

More man! Plague! plague!

Apem. I was directed hither: men report Thou dost affect my manners, and dost use them.

Tim. 'Tis then because thou dost not keep a dog

Whom I would imitate: consumption catch thee!

200

241

Apem. If thou didst put this sour-cold habit on
To castigate thy pride, 'twere well; but thou
Dost it enforcedly; thou 'dst courtier be again
Wert thou not beggar. Willing misery
Outlives incertain pomp, is crown'd before;
The one is filling still, never complete;
The other, at high wish: best state, content-
less,

Hath a distracted and most wretched being,
Worse than the worst, content.

Thou should'st desire to die, being miserable.
Tim. Not by his breath that is more miserable.
Thou art a slave, whom Fortune's tender arm
With favour never clasp'd, but bred a dog.
Hadst thou, like us, from our first swath, pro-
ceeded

250

At duty, more than I could frame employment,
That numberless upon me stuck as leaves
Do on the oak, have with one winter's brush
Fell from their boughs and left me open, bare
For every storm that blows; I, to bear this,
That never knew but better, is some burden:
Thy nature did commence in sufferance, time
Hath made thee hard in 't. Why should'st thou
hate men?

They never flatter'd thee: what hast thou given?
If thou wilt curse, thy father, that poor rag, 70
Must be thy subject, who in spite put stuff
To some she beggar and compounded thee
Poor rogue hereditary. Hence! be gone!
If thou hadst not been born the worst of men,
Thou hadst been a knave and flatterer.
Apem.
Tim. Ay, that I am not thee.
Apem.
No prodigal.

Tim.

Art thou proud yet?

I, that I was

280

I, that I am one now: Were all the wealth I have shut up in thee, I'd give thee leave to hang it. Get thee gone. That the whole life of Athens were in this! Thus would I eat it. Eating a root. Apem. Here; I will mend thy feast. Tim. First mend my company, take away thyself.

Apem. So I shall mend mine own, by the lack of thine.

Tim. Tis not well mended so, it is but botch'd;

If not, I would it were.

Apem. What would'st thou have to Athens ? Tim. Thee thither in a whirlwind. If thou wilt,

Tell them there I have gold; look, so I have.
Apem. Here is no use for gold.
Tim.
The best and truest;
For here it sleeps, and does no hired harm.
Apem. Where liest o' nights, Timon?
Tim.
Under that's above me.
Where feed'st thou o' days, Apemantus?

290

Apem. Where my stomach finds meat; or, rather, where I eat it.

Tim. Would poison were obedient and knew my mind!

Apem. Where would'st thou send it?
Tim. To sauce thy dishes.

Apem. The middle of humanity thou never knewest, but the extremity of both ends. When thou wast in thy gilt and thy perfume, they mocked thee for too much curiosity; in thy rags thou knowest none, but art despised for the contrary. There's a medlar for thee; eat it. Tim. On what I hate I feed not. Apem. Dost hate a medlar?

Tim. Ay, though it look like thee.

Apem. An thou hadst hated meddlers sooner, thou should'st have loved thyself better now, What man didst thou ever know unthrift that was beloved after his means?

Tim. Who, without those means thou talkest of, didst thou ever know beloved? Apem. Myself.

Tim. I understand thee; thou hadst some means to keep a dog.

Apem. What things in the world canst thou nearest compare to thy flatterers ?

Tim. Women nearest; but men, men are the things themselves. What would'st thou do with the world, Apemantus, if it lay in thy power?

Apem. Give it the beasts, to be rid of the

men.

Tim. Would'st thou have thyself fall in the confusion of men, and remain a beast with the beasts?

Apem. Ay, Timon.

Tim. A beastly ambition, which the gods grant thee t' attain to. If thou wert the lion, the fox would beguile thee; if thou wert the lamb, the fox would eat thee; if thou wert the fox, the lion would suspect thee, when perad venture thou wert accused by the ass; if thos wert the ass, thy dulness would torment thee, and still thou livedst but as a breakfast to the wolf; if thou wert the wolf, thy greediness would afflict thee, and oft thou should'st hazard thy life for thy dinner; wert thou the unicoru pride and wrath would confound thee and make thine own self the conquest of thy fury; wert thou a bear, thou would'st be killed by the horse; wert thou a horse, thou would'st be seized by the leopard; wert thou a leopard, thou wert german to the lion, and the spots of thy kindred were jurors on thy life; all thy safety were remotion, and thy defence absence. What beast could'st thou be that were not subject to a beast? and what a beast art thou already, that seest not thy loss in transfermation!

Apem. If thou could'st please me with speaking to me, thou might'st have hit upon it here: the commonwealth of Athens is become a forest of beasts.

Tim. How has the ass broke the wall, that thou art out of the city?

Apem. Yonder comes a poet and a painter: the plague of company light upon thee! I will fear to catch it, and give way. When I know not what else to do, I'll see thee again.

Tim. When there is nothing living but thee,

410

Do villany, do, since you protest to do 't,
Like workmen. I'll example you with thievery:
The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction
Robs the vast sea; the moon 's an arrant thief,
And her pale fire she snatches from the sun;
The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves
The moon into salt tears; the earth's a thief,
That feeds and breeds by a composture stolen
From general excrement; each thing's a thief;
The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough
power

Have uncheck'd theft. Love not yourselves;
away!
Rob one another.

throats;

450

There's more gold: cut

Enter FLAVIUS.

Flav. O you gods!

Is yond despis'd and ruinous man my lord?
Full of decay and failing? O monument

And wonder of good deeds evilly bestow'd! 470
What an alteration of honour
Has desperate want made!

What viler thing upon the earth than friends
Who can bring noblest minds to basest ends!
How rarely does it meet with this time's guise,
When man was wish'd to love his enemies!
Grant I may ever love, and rather woo

Those that would mischief me than those that do!

He has caught me in his eye: I will present
My honest grief unto him; and, as my lord, 480
Still serve him with my life. My dearest

master!

TIMON comes forward.

Tim. Away! what art thou?
Flav.
Have you forgot me, sir?
Tim. Why dost ask that? I have forgot all

men;

Then, if thou grant'st thou 'rt a man, I have forgot thee.

Flav. An honest poor servant of yours.
Tim.
Then I know thee not:
I never had honest man about me; ay, all
I kept were knaves, to serve in meat to villains.
Flav. The gods are witness,

Ne'er did poor steward wear a truer grief
For his undone lord than mine eyes for you. 490
Tim. What! dost thou weep? Come nearer.
Then I love thee,

Because thou art a woman, and disclaim'st
Flinty mankind; whose eyes do never give,
But thorough lust and laughter. Pity's sleeping:
Strange times, that weep with laughing, not
with weeping!

Flav. I beg of you to know me, good my lord, To accept my grief and whilst this poor wealth lasts

To entertain me as your steward still.

Tim. Had I a steward

So true, so just, and now so comfortable?
It almost turns my dangerous nature mild.
Let me behold thy face. Surely, this man
Was born of woman.

Forgive my general and exceptless rashness,
You perpetual-sober gods! I do proclaim
One honest man, mistake me not, but one;
No more, I pray, and he's a steward.

500

How fain would I have hated all mankind!
And thou redeem'st thyself: but all, save thee,
I fell with curses.

510

Methinks thou art more honest now than wise;
For, by oppressing and betraying me,
Thou might st have sooner got another service:
For many so arrive at second masters

Upon their first lord's neck. But tell me true,
For I must ever doubt. though ne'er so sure,
Is not thy kindness subtle, covetous,

If not a usuring kindness, and as rich men deal gifts,

Expecting in return twenty for one?

Flav. No, my most worthy master; in whose breast

Doubt and suspect, alas! are plac'd too late.

520

Here, take: the gods out of my misery
Have sent thee treasure. Go, live rich and happy;
But thus condition'd: thou shalt build from men;
Hate all, curse all, show charity to none,
But let the famish'd flesh slide from the bone,
Ere thou relieve the beggar; give to dogs
What thou deny'st to men; let prisons swallow
'em,

Debts wither 'em to nothing; be men like blasted woods,

And may diseases lick up their false bloods!
And so farewell and thrive.
Flav.
O let me stay

And comfort you, my master.
Tim.

ats

If thou hatest Curses, stay not; fly, whilst thou art bless'd and free:

Ne'er see thou man, and let me ne'er see thee. Exeunt severally.

ACT V.

SCENE I.-The Woods. Before TIMON's Cave. Enter Poet and Painter.

Pain. As I took note of the place, it cannot be far where he abides.

Poet. What's to be thought of him? Does the rumour hold for true that he's so full of gold!

Pain. Certain: Alcibiades reports it; Phrynia and Timandra had gold of him: he likewise enriched poor straggling soldiers with great quantity. 'Tis said he gave unto his steward a mighty sum.

Poet. Then this breaking of his has been but a try for his friends.

Pain. Nothing else; you shall see him a palm in Athens again, and flourish with the highest. Therefore 'tis not amiss we tender our loves to him, in this supposed distress of his: it will show honestly in us, and is very likely to load our purposes with what they travel for, if it be a just and true report that goes of his having. Poet. What have you now to present unto him? Pain. Nothing at this time but my visitation; only I will promise him an excellent piece. Poet. I must serve him so too; tell him of an intent that's coming toward him.

Pain. Good as the best. Promising is the very air o' the time; it opens the eyes of expectation; performance is ever the duller for his act; and, but in the plainer and simpler kind of people, the deed of saying is quite out To promise is most courtly and fashionable; performance is a kind of will or testament which argues a great sickness in his judgment that makes it.

of use.