Tim. A beast, as thou art. The canker gnaw thy heart, For showing me again the eyes of man! Alrib. What is thy name? Is man so hateful to thee, That art thyself a man? Tim. I am misanthropos, and hate mankind. Alcib. I not desire to know. Follow thy drum; Thy lips rot off! Phr. Alcib. How came the noble Timon to this change? Alcib. What friendship may I do thee? Maintain my opinion. By killing villains, thou wast born to conquer Put up thy gold: Go on,-here's gold,-go on; That through the window-bars bore at men's eyes, Set them down horrible traitors: Spare not the babe, Think it a bastard,' whom the oracle None, but to What is it, Timon? Alcib. Alcib. I have heard in some sort of thy miseries. Tim. Art thou Timandra? Yes. Tim. Be a whore still! they love thee not, that Give them diseases, leaving with thee their lust. Timan. Not all thy counsel. Tim. Dost thou, or dost thou not, heaven's curse upon thee! Phr. & Timan. Give us some gold, good Timon: Hast thou more? Tim. Enough to make a whore forswear her trade, And to make whores, a bawd. Hold up, you sluts, I'll trust to your conditions; Be whores still; Be quite contrary: And thatch your poor thin roofs Paint till a horse may mire upon your face: Thr. & Timan. Well, more gold;-What then?- In hollow bones of man; strike their sharp shins, Smells from the general weal: make curl'd-pate | That thou turn rascal; hadst thou wealth again, ruffians bald; And let the unscarr'd braggarts of the war The source of all erection.-There's more gold:- Phr. & Timan. More counsel with more money, bounteous Timon. Tim. More whore, more mischief first; I have given you earnest. Rascals should have't. Do not assume my likeness. A madman so long, now a fool: What, think'st Candied with ice, caudle thy morning taste, Alcib. Strike up the drum towards Athens. To cure thy o'er night surfeit? call the creatures,— Farewell Timon! Should yet be hungry!-Common mother, thou Whose womb unmeasurable, and infinite breast, Enter APEMANTUS. More man? Plague! plague! Apem. I was directed hither: Men report This slave-like habit, and these looks of care? come, To knaves, and all approachers; 'Tis most just, • Curved. • The serpent called the blind worm. Whose naked natures live in all the spite Of wreakful heaven; whose bare unhoused trunks, Apem. I flatter not; but say thou art a caitiff. Ay. To vex thee. Tim. Always a villain's office, or a fool's. Dost please thyself in't? Apem. Tim. What! a knave too? 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 uncertain pomp, is crown'd before;' The one is filling still, never complete; The other at high wish: Best state, contentless, Hath a distracted and most wretched being, Worse than the worst, content. Thou shouldst desire to die, being miserable. Tim. Not by his breath that is more miserable. The sweet degrees that this brief world affords They never flatter'd thee. What hast thou given? i. e. Arrives sooner at the completion of its wishes. Арет. I, that I was Were all the wealth I have shut up in thee, Apem. So I shall mend mine own, by the lack Tim. "Tis not well mended so, it is but botch'd; If not, I would it were. Apem. What wouldst thou have to Athens? Tell them there, I have gold; look, so I have. Apem. Where my stomach finds meat; or, rather, where I eat it. Tim. 'Would poison were obedient, and knew my mind! Apem. Where wouldst thou send it? Tim. To sauce thy dishes. Ithou 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 couldst thou be, that wert not subject to a beast and what a beast art thou already, that seest not thy loss in transformation? Apem. If thou couldst please me with speaking to me, thou mightst 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, thou shalt be welcome. I had rather be a beggar's dog, than Apemantus. Apem. Thou art the cap' of all the fools alive. Tim. 'Would thou wert clean enough to spit upon. Apem. A plague on thee, thou art too bad to curse. Tim. All villains, that do stand by thee, are pure. I'll beat thee, but I should infect my hands. 'Would thou would'st burst! Apem. The middle of humanity thou never knewest, but the extremity of both ends; When thou wast in thy gilt, and thy perfume, they mock-Thou tedious rogue! I am sorry, I shall lose [Throws a Stone at him. Apem. Tim. ed thee for too much curiosity; in thy rags thou A stone by thee. knowest none, but art despised for the contrary. Apem. Beast! Slave! Apem. Toad! There's a medlar for thee, eat it. Tim. Ay, though it look like thee. Apem. An thou hadst hated meddlers sooner, thou shouldst 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. Rogue, rogue, rogue! [APEMANTUS retreats backward, as going. I am sick of this false world; and will love nought [Looking on the Gold. "Twixt natural son and sire! thou bright defiler Apem. What things in the world canst thou Of Hymen's purest bed! thou valiant Mars! nearest compare to thy flatterers? Tim. Women nearest: but men, men are the things themselves. What wouldst thou do with the world, Apemantus, if it lay in thy power? Apem. Give it the beasts, to be rid of the men. Tim. Wouldst thou have thyself fall in the confusion of men, and remain a beast with the beasts? Apem. Ay, Timon. Thou ever young, fresh, lov'd, and delicate wooer, To every purpose! O thou touch' of hearts! 'Would 'twere so;— Арет. Tim. A beastly ambition, which the gods grant thee to 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, peradventure, thou wert accused by the ass: if thou 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 shouldst hazard thy life for thy dinner: wert thou the unicorn, pride and wrath would confound thee, and make thine own self the conquest of thy fury: wert thou a bear, More things like men?-Eat, Timon, and abhor thou wouldst be killed by the horse: wert thou a horse, thou wouldst be seized by the leopard: wert For too much finical delicacy. Throng'd to? lion. them. Remoteness; the being placed at a distance from the Enter Thieves. 1 Thief. Where should he have this gold? It is some poor fragment, some slender ort of his remainder: The mere want of gold, and the fallingfrom of his friends, drove him into this melancholy. 2 Thief. It is noised, he hath a mass of treasure. 3 Thief. Let us make the assay upon him: if he care not for't, he will supply us easily; if he covetously reserve it, how shall's get it? 2Thief. True; for he bears it not about him, 'tis hid. 1 Thief. Is not this he? Thieves. Where? 2 Thief. "Tis his description. 3 Thief. He; I know him. Thieves. Save thee, Timon. Tim. Now, thieves? Thieves. Soldiers, not thieves. Tim. Both too: and women's sons. Thieves. We are not thieves, but men that much do want. Tim. Your greatest want is, you want much of meat. Why should you want? Behold the earth hath roots; Tim. Nor on the beasts themselves, the birds You must eat men. Yet thanks I must you con, That you are thieves profess'd; that you work not In holier shapes: for there is boundless theft In limited' professions. Rascal thieves, Here's gold: Go, suck the subtle blood of the grape, Till the high fever seethe your blood to froth, And so 'scape hanging: trust not the physician; His antidotes are poison, and he slays More than you rob: take wealth and lives together; Do villany, do, since you profess 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. There's more gold: Cut throats; All that you meet are thieves: To Athens, go, Break open shops; nothing can you steal, But thieves do lose it; Steal not less, for this I give you; and gold confound you howsoever! [TIMON retires to his Cave. 3 Thief. He has almost charmed me from my profession, by persuading me to it. 1 Thief. 'Tis in the malice of mankind, that he thus advises us; not to have us thrive in our mystery. 2 Thief. I'll believe him as an enemy, and give over my trade. 1 Thief. Let us first see peace in Athens: There is no time so miserable, but a man may be true. [Exeunt Thieves. What an alteration of honor has Flav. Then I know thee not: I ne'er had honest man then I love thee, Because thou art a woman, and disclaim'st 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 One honest man,-mistake me not,-but one; Methinks, thou art more honest now, than wise; Flav. No, my most worthy master, in whose breast feast: Suspect still comes where an estate is least. For any benefit that points to me, Tim. Look thee, 'tis so!-Thou singly honest man, SCENE I-Before Timon's Cave. Enter Poet and Painter; TIMON behind, unseen. 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 rumor hold for true, that he is 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 of use. 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. Tim. Excellent workman! paint a man so bad as is thyself. Poet. I am thinking what I shall say I have provided for him: It must be a personating of himself: a satire against the softness of prosperity: with a discovery of the infinite flatteries, that follow youth and opulency. Pain. Our late noble master. Tim. Have I once liv'd to see two honest men! Poet. Sir, Having often of your open bounty tasted, Whose star-like nobleness gave life and influence Tim. Let it go naked, men may see't the better: Pain. Can you eat roots, and drink cold water? no. I have gold: I am sure you have: speak truth: you are honest men. Pain. So it is said, my noble lord: but therefore Came not my friend, nor I. Tim. Good honest men:-Thou draw'st a counterfeit1 Best in all Athens; thou art, indeed, the best; Thou canst not Thou counterfeit'st most lively, Pain. So, so, my lord. Tim. Even so, sir, as I say :-And for thy fiction, [To the Poet. Why thy verse swells with stuff so fine and smooth, That thou art even natural in thine art.But, for all this, my honest-natur'd friends, I must needs say, you have a little fault: Marry, 'tis not monstrous in you; neither wish I, You take much pains to mend. Both. Tim. Must thou needs stand for a villain in thine own work? Wilt thou whip thine own faults in other men? Do so, I have gold for thee. Poet. Nay, let's seek him: Then do we sin against our own estate, When we may profit meet, and come too late. Pain. True; When the day serves, before black-corner'd night, Find what thou want'st, by free and offered light. Come. Tim. I'll meet you at the turn. What a god's gold, That he is worshipp'd in a baser temple, Than where swine feed! "Tis thou that rigg'st the bark, and plough'st the To make it known to us. Beseech your honor, |