For fhewing me again the eyes of man!

Alc. What is thy name? is man so hateful to thee, That art thy felf a man?

Tim. I am Mifanthropos, and hate mankind.
For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog,
That I might love thee fomething.

Alc. I know thee well :

But in thy fortunes am unlearn'd, and strange.. Tim. I know thee too, and more than that I know thee,

I not defire to know. Follow thy drum,

With man's blood paint the ground; gules, gules;
Religious Canons, civil Laws are cruel;

Then what fhould war be? this fell whore of thine
Hath in her more destruction than thy sword,
For all her cherubin look.

Phry. Thy lips rot off!

Tim. I will not kifs thee, then the Rot returns
To thine own lips again.

Alc. How came the noble Timon to this change?
Tim. As the moon does, by wanting light to give :
But then renew I could not, like the moon ;
'There were no funs to borrow of.

Alc. Noble Timon, what friendship may I do thee?
Tim. None, but to maintain my opinion.

Alc. What is it, Timon?

If

Tim. Promise me friendship, but perform none. thou wilt not promife, the Gods plague thee, for thou art a man: if thou doft perform, confound thee, for thou art a man!

Alc. I've heard in fome fort of thy miferies. Tim. Thou faw'ft them when I had profperity.. Alc. I fee them now, then was a bleffed time. Tim. As thine is now, held with a brace of harlots.. Timan. Is this th' Athenian minion, whom the world Voic'd fo regardfully?

Tim. Art thou Timandra?

Timan. Yes.

Tim. Be a whore ftill: they love thee not, that ufe thee: Give them diseases, leaving with thee their luft :

Make

Make use of thy falt hours, feafon the flaves

For tubs and baths, bring down the rose-cheek'd youth To th' Tub-fast, and the diet. (19)

Timan. Hang thee, monster !

Alc. Pardon him, fweet Timandra, for his wits
Are drown'd and loft. in his calamities.

I have but little gold of late, brave Timon,
The want whereof doth daily make revolt
In my penurious band. I heard and griev'd,
How curfed Athens, mindlefs of thy worth,
Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbour ftates,
But for thy fword and fortune, trod upon them

Tim. I pr'ythee, beat thy drum, and get thee gone.
Alc. I am thy friend, and pity thee, dear Timon.
Tim. How doft thou pity him, whom thou doft trouble?
I'ad rather be alone.

Alc. Why, fare thee well,

Here's gold for thee.

Tim. Keep it, I cannot eat it.

Alc. When I have laid proud Athens on a heap-
Tim. Warr'ft thou 'gainst Athens ?

Alc. Ay, Timon, and have cause.

(19) To the Fubfaft, and the Diet.] One might make a very long and vain Search, yet not be able to meet with this prepofterous Word Fubfaft, which has notwithstanding pafs'd currant with all the Editors. The Author is alluding to the Lues Venerea, and its Effects. At that Time, the Cure of it was perform'd either by Guaiacum, or Mercurial Unctions: and in both Cases the Patient was kept up very warm and clofes that in the first Application the Sweat might be promoted; and left, in the other, he should take Cold, which was fatal. "The Regimen for the Courfe of Guaiacum (fays "Dr. Friend in his Hift. of Phyfick, Vol. 2. p. 380.) was at first "ftrangely circumftantial; and fo rigorous, that the Patient was put into a Dungeon in order to make him sweat; and "in that manner, as Fallopius expreffes it, the Bones and the 66 very Man himself was macerated. "And as for the Unition, it was fometimes continued for thirty feven days; (as he obferves, P 375.) and during this Time there was neceffarily an extraordinary Abftinence requir'd. Mr. Warburton.

cr

Tim. The Gods confound them all then in thy Conquest,
And, after, Thee, when thou haft conquered !
Al. Why me, Timon?

Tim. That by killing of villains
Thou waft born to conquer my Country.
Put up thy gold. Go on, here's gold, go on;
Be as a planetary plague, when ove

Will o'er fome high-vic'd city hang his poison
In the fick air: Let not thy fword skip one,
Pity not honour'd age for his white beard,
He is an ufurer. Strike me the matron,
It is her habit only that is honest,

Her felf's a bawd. Let not the virgin's cheek
Make foft thy trenchant fword; for thofe milk-paps,
That through the window-lawn bore at mens' eyes, (20)
Are not within the leaf of pity writ;

Set them down horrible traitors. Spare not the babe,
Whofe dimpled fmiles from fools exhaust their mercy;
Think it a bastard, whom the oracle

Hath doubtfully pronounc'd thy throat fhall cut,
And mince it fans remorfe. Swear against objects,
Put armour on thine ears, and on thine eyes;
Whose proof, nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes,
Nor fight of prieft in holy vestments bleeding,
Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay thy foldiers.
Make large confufion; and, thy fury spent,
Confounded be thy felf! fpeak not, be gone.
Ale. Haft thou gold yet?

I'll take the gold thou giv'it me, not thy counfel.
Tim. Doft thou, or doft thou not, heav'n's curfe up-
on thee!

Both. Give us fome gold, good Timon: haft thou

more?

(20) That thro' the Window-barn bore at men's Eyes.] I cannot for my Heart imagine, what Idea our wife Editors had of a Virgin's Breaft thro' a Window-barn: which, I am fatisfied, must be a corrupt Reading. In fhort, the Poet is alluding to the decent Custom in his Time of the Women covering their Necks and Bofom either with Lawn, or Cyprus; both which being transparent, the Poet beautifully calls it the Window

Lawa

Tim

Tim. Enough to make a whore forswear her trade,
And to make whole a bawd. (21) Hold up, you sluts,
Your aprons mountant; you're not othable,
Although, I know, you'll fwear; terribly fwear
Into ftrong thudders, and to heav'nly agues,
Th' immortal Gods that hear you. Spare your oaths
I'll truft to your conditions, be whores ftill,
And he whofe pious breath feeks to convert you,
Be ftrong in whore, allure him, burn him up.
Let your close fire predominate his fmoak,

And be no turn-coats: yet may your pains fix months
Be quite contrary. Make falfe hair, and thatch
Your poor thin roofs with burthens of the dead,
(Some that were hang'd, no matter:

-)

Wear them, betray with them; and whore on still:
Paint 'till a horse may mire upon your

A pox of wrinkles!

Both. Well, more gold

face;

what then?

Believe, that we'll do any thing for gold..
Tim. Confumptions fow

In hollow bones of man, ftrike their fharp fhins,
And mar mens' fpurring. Crack the lawyer's voice,
That he may never more falfe Title plead,
Nor found his quillets fhrilly. Hoar the Flamen,
That fcolds against the quality of flesh,

And not believes himself. Down with the nofe,
Down with it flat; take the bridge quite away
Of him, that his particular to foresee

(21) And to make whore a Bawd.] The Power of Gold, indeed, may be fuppos'd great, that can make a Whore forfake her Trade; but what mighty Difficulty was there in making a Whore turn Bawd? And yet, 'tis plain, here he is describing the mighty Power of Gold. He had before fhewn, how Gold can perfuade to any villany; he now fhews that it has still a greater Force, and can even turn from Vice to the Practice, or, at leaft, the Semblance of Virtue. We must therefore read, to reftore Sense to our Author,

And to make whole a Bawd

i. e. not only make her quit her Calling, but thereby restore her to Reputation.

ME, Warburton
Smells

.

Smells from the gen'ral weal. Make curl'd-pate ruffians

bald,

And let the unfcarr'd braggarts of the war
Derive fome pain from you. Plague all;
That your activity may defeat, and quell
The fource of all erection.

There's more gold.

Do you damn others, and let this damn you,
And ditches grave you all!

Both. More counsel with more mony, bounteous Timon.
Tim. More whore, more mischief, firft; I've given
you earnest.

Alc. Strike up the drum tow'rds Athens; farewel, Timon::
If I thrive well, I'll vifit thee again.

Tim. If I hope well, I'll never fee thee more.

Alc. I never did thee harm.

Tim. Yes, thou fpok'ft well of me.

Alc. Call'ft thou that harm ?.

Tim. Men daily find it. Get thee hence, away.

And take thy beagles with thee.

Alc. We but offend him: ftrike.

[Exeunt Alcibiad. Phryn. and Timand."

Tim. That Nature, being fick of man's unkindness, Should yet be hungry! Common mother, thou

Whose womb unmeasurable, and infinite breast

Teems, and feeds all; oh thou! whofe felf-fame mettle.
(Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is puft)
Engenders the black toad, and adder blue,

The gilded newt, and eyeless venom'd worm;
With all th' abhorred births below crifp heav'n,
Whereon Hyperion's quickning fire doth shine;
Yield him, who all thy human fons does hate,
From forth thy plenteous bofom, one poor root!
Enfear thy fertile and conceptious womb;
Let it no more bring out ingrateful man.
Go great with tygers, dragons, wolves and bears,
Teem with new monfters, whom thy upward face.
Hath to the marbled manfion all above

Never presented

O, a root

dear thanks! Dry up thy marrows, veins, and plough-torn leas, Whereof ingrateful man with liqu'rish draughts,

And

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