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For Mhewing me again the eyes of man !

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

Tim. I am Misanthropos, and hate mankind.
For thy part, I do with thou wert a dog,
That I might love thee something.

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

I not desire to know. Follow thy. drum,
With man's blood paint the ground ; gules, gules ;
Religious Canons, civil Laws are cruel ;
Then what should 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 kiss 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 suns to borrow of.

Alc. Noble Timon, what friendship may I do thee?
Tim. None, but to maintain my opinion...
Alc. What is it, Timon ?
Tim. Promise me friendship, but perform none.

If thou wilt not promise, the Gods plague thee, for thou art a man: if thou dost perform, confound thee, for thou art a man !

Alc. I've heard in some sort of thy miseries.
Tim. Thou saw'st them when I had prosperity.
Alç. I see them now, then was a blessed 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 use thee:
Give them di/eases, leaving with thee their luft :


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Make use of thy falt hours, fonfon the slaves
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, sweet Timandra, for his wits
Are drown'd and loit. 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 cursed Athens, mindless of thy worth,
Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbour states,
But for thy sword 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'it thou 'gainst Athens ?
Alc. Ay, Timon, and have cause.

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(19). To the Fubfast, and the Dier.) One might make a very long and vain Search, yet not be able to meet with this prepofterous Word Fubfast, which has notwithstanding pass’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 Guaiacun, or Mercarial Unâions : and in both Cases the patient was kept up very warm and closes 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 Course of Guaiacum (says “ Dr. Friend in his Hiß. of Playfik, Vol. 2. p.380.) was at first " Atrangely circumstantial; and so rigorous, that the Patient “ was put into a Dungeon in order to make him sweat; and “ in that manner, as Fallopius expresses it, the Bones and the « very Man himself was macerated. ” And as for the VnEtion, it was sometimes continued for thirty seven days; (as he observes, P 375.) and during this time there was necessarily an, extraordinary Abstinence requir’d.

Mr. Warburton.

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Tim. The Gods confound them all then in thy Conquests
And, after, Thee, when thou hast conquered !

A. 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 Jove
Will o'er fome high-vic'd city hang his poison
In the fick air : Let not thy sword skip one,
Pity not honour'd age for his white beard,
He is an usurer. Strike me the matron,
It is her habit only that is honeft,
Her felf's a bawd. Let not the virgin's cheek
Make soft thy trenchant sword; for those 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,
Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their mercy ;
Think it a bastard, whom the oracle
Hath doubtfully pronounc'd thy throat shall cut,
And mince it fans remorse. Swear against objects,
Put armour on thine ears, and on thine eyes ;
Whose proof, nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes,
Nor fight of priest in holy vestments bleeding,
Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay thy soldiers,
Make large confufion ; and, thy fury spent,
Confounded be thy felf! speak not, be gone.

· Alc. Hast thou gold yet?
P'll take the gold thou giv'ft me, not thy counsel.
Tim. Dost thou, or doft thou not, heav'n's curse up-

on thee! Both. Give us some gold, good Timon: haft thou

more? (20) That throʻ the Window-barn bore at men's Eyes.] I cannot for my Heart imagine, what Idea our wise Editors had of a Virgin's Breast thro' a Window-barn: which, I am satisfied, must be a corrupt Reading. In short, the Poet is alluding to the decent Cuftom in his time of the Women covering their Necks and Bosom either with Lawn, or Cyprus's both whick being transparent, the Poct beautifully calls it the WindowLawie


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face ;

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 swear ; terribly swear
Into strong hudders, and to heav'nly agues,
Th’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.
Let your close fire predominate his smoak,
And be no turn-coats: yet may your pains six months
Be quite contrary. Make false 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 ftill :
Paint 'till a horse


upon your A pox of wrinkles !

Both. Well, more gold what then? Believe, that we'll do any thing for gold.

Tim. Consumptions fow In hollow bones of man, strike their sharp shins, And mar mens' spurring. Crack the lawyer's voice, That he may never more false Title plead, Nor found 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

(21) And to make whore a Bawd.] The Power of Gold, ina deed, may be suppos'd great, that can make a Whore forsake her Trade ; but what mighry Difficulty was there in making a Whore turn Bawd? And yet, 'ris plain, here he is describing the mighty Power of Gold. He had before thewn, how Gold can persuade to any, villany; he now shews that it has still a greater Force, and can even turn from Vice to the Practice, or, at least, the Semblance of Virtue. We must therefore read, to refore 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 grave you all!

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

bald, And let the unscarr'd braggarts of the war Derive fome 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

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

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

Tim. If I hope well, I'll never see thee more.
Alc. I never did thee harm.
Tim. Yes, thou spok'it well of me.
Alc. Call’At thou that harm ?.

Tim. Men daily find it. Get thee hence, away.
And take thy beagles with thee.
Alc. We but offend him: strike.

[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 ! whose self-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 crisp heav'n,
Whereon Hyperion's quickning fire doth shine ;
Yield him, who all thy human sons does hate,
From forth thy plenteous bofom, one poor root !.
Ensear thy fertile and conceptious womb; .
Let it no more bring out ingrateful man.
Go great with tygers, dragons, wolves and bears,
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, veins, and plough-torn leas,
Whereof ingrateful man with liqu’rish draughts, -


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