The mounds into falt tears. The earth's a thief,
That feeds and breeds by a compofture ftoll'n (35)
From gen'ral excrements: 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, there's more gold; cut throats;
All that you meet are thieves: to Athens go,
Break open fhops, for nothing can you steal
But thieves do lofe it: fteal not lefs for what

I give, and gold confound you how foever! Amen. [Exit. 3 Thief. H'as almost charm'd me from my profeffion, by perfuading me to it.

Thief. 'Tis in the malice of mankind, that he thus advises us; not to have us thrive in our mystery. [trade. 2 Thief. I'll believe him as an enemy; and give over my 1 Thief. Let us firft fee peace in Athens; (36)

2 Thief. There is no time fo miferable, but a man may be true. [Exeunt.

And in a play, afcrib'd to him, call'd Pericles Prince of Tyre. At 4. "Thetis, being proud, fwallow'd fome part o' th' earth.

It may not be amifs to obferve, that in all the editions of this play, except one old quarto printed in 1609, the name of Thetis is loft, and nonfenfically corrupted into these two words :

That is, being proud, &c.

(35)

-by a compofure ftoln

From gen'ral excrement:] I have reftor'd from the old editions, com pofture; and there is no doubt but that was our author's word here. For he is fpeaking of that artificial dung, call'd compost. So Haml. A& 3. And do not spread the compoft on the weeds,

To make them ranker.

(36) 1 Thief. Let us first fee peace in Athens; &c.] This and the concluding little speech have in all the editions been placed to one fpeaker: But, as Mr. Warburton very justly observ'd to me, 'tis evident, the latter words ought to be put in the mouth of the first thief, who is for repenting, and leaving off his trade.

ACT

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ACT

V.

SCENE, The Woods, and Timon's Cave.

Ο

H, you gods!

Enter Flavius.

FLAVIUS.

Is yon defpis'd and ruinous man my Lord?
Full of decay and failing? oh, monument
And wonder of good deeds, evilly bestow'd!
What change of honour defp'rate want has made?
What viler thing upon the earth, than friends,
Who can bring nobleft minds to basest ends?
How rarely does it meet with this time's guife,
When man was wifht to love his enemies:
Grant, I may ever love, and rather woo
Thofe that would mifchief me, than thofe that do!
H'as caught me in his eye, I will present
My honeft grief to him; and, as my Lord,
Still ferve him with my life. My deareft mafter!

Timon comes forward from his Cave.

Tim. Away! what art thou?

Flav. Have you forgot me, Sir?

Tim. Why doft afk that? I have forgot all men. Then if thou granteft that thou art a man,

I have forgot thee.

Flav. An honeft fervant,

Tim. Then I know thee not:

I ne'er had honeft man about me, all

I kept were knaves, to ferve in meat to villains.
Flav. The gods are witness,

Ne'er did poor fteward wear a truer grief
For his undone Lord, than mine eyes for you.

Tim. What, doft thou weep? come nearer, then I love thee,

Because thou art a woman, and disclaim'st

Flinty mankind; whofe eyes do never give
But or through luft, or laughter. Pity's fleeping;
Strange times! that weep with laughing, not with weeping.
Flav. I beg of you to know me, good my Lord,
T'accept my grief, and, whilft this poor wealth lafts,
To entertain me as your fteward still.

Tim. Had I a steward

So true, fo juft, and now fo comfortable?
It almoft turns my dangerous nature wild.-
Let me behold thy face: furely, this man
Was born of woman.

Forgive my gen'ral and exceptlefs rashness,
Perpetual, fober gods! I do proclaim
One honeft man: mistake me not, but one:
No more, I pray; and he's a steward.

How fain would I have hated all mankind,
And thou redeem'ft thyfelf: but all, fave thee,
I fell with curfes.

Methinks, thou art more honeft now, than wife;
For, by oppreffing and betraying me,

Thou might'ft have fooner got another fervice:
For many fo arrive at second mafters,
Upon their firft Lord's neck.

But tell me true,

(For I muft ever doubt, though ne'er fo fure) Is not thy kindnefs fubtle, covetous,

A ufuring kindness, as rich men deal gifts,

Expecting in return twenty for one?

Flav. No, my moft worthy mafter, (in whofe breaft Doubt and fufpect, alas, are plac'd too late,)

You should have fear'd falfe times, when you did feaft;

Sufpe&t ftill comes, where an eftate is leaft.

That which I fhew, heav'n knows, is merely love,

Duty, and zeal, to your unmatched mind,

Care of your food and living: and, believe it,
For any benefit that points to me

Either in hope, or prefent, l'd exchange

For this one wish, that you had power and wealth
To requite me by making rich yourself.

Tim. Look thee, 'tis fo; thou fingly honeft man, Here, take; the gods out of my mifery

Have fent thee treafure. Go, live rich and happy :
But thus condition'd; Thou shalt build from men:
Hate all, curfe all, fhew charity to none;

But let the famifh'd flesh flide from the bone,

Ere thou relieve the beggar.

Give to dogs

What thou deny'st to men. Let prifons fwallow 'em,
Debts wither 'cm; be men like blafted woods,
And may difeafes lick up their falfe bloods!

And fo farewel, and thrive.

Flav. O, let me ftay, and comfort you, my master.
Tim. If thou hat'ft curfes,

Stay not, but fly, whilft thou art blest and free;
Ne'er fee thou man, and let me ne'er fee thee.

Enter Poet and Painter.

[Exeunt feverally.

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

Poet. What's to be thought of him? does the rumour hold for true, that he's fo full of gold?

Pain, Certain. Alcibiades reports it: Phrynia and Timandra had gold of him: he likewife enrich'd poor ftragling foldiers with great quantity. 'Tis faid, he gave his steward a mighty fum.

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

Pain. Nothing elfe: you fhall fee him a palm in Athens again, and flourish with the higheft. Therefore, 'tis not amifs, we tender our loves to him, in this fuppos'd distress of his: it will fhew honeftly in us, and is very likely to load our purposes with what they travel for, if it be a juft and true report that goes of his having. Poet. What have you now to present unto him? Pain. Nothing at this time but my vifitation: only I will promife him an excellent piece.

Poet. I must ferve him so too; tell him of an intent that's coming toward him.

Pain. Good as the beft: Promifing is the very air o' th' time; it opens the eyes of expectation. Performånce is ever the duller for his act, and, but in the

plainer