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That he may never more false title plead,
Nor found his quillets fhrilly. Hoar the Flamen,
That scolds againit 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 gen’ral weal. Make curl'd-pate ruffians
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 grave you all !

Both. More counsel with more money, bounteous Timon. Tim. More whore, more mischief, firfi; I've given you

earneft. 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 chee harm.
Tim. Yes, thou spok’st well of me.
Alc. Call'st 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 breaft Teems, and feeds all; oh thou! whole 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 fons does hate, From forth thy plenteous bosom, 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 manfion all above
Never presented-o, a root-dear thanks!
Dry up thy marrows, veins, and plough-torn leas, (27)
Whereof ingrateful man with liqu’rith draughts,
And morsels unctious, 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 doft not keep a dog Whom I would imitate; consumption catch thee!

Apem. This is in thee a nature but affected, A poor unmanly melancholy, sprung From change of fortune. Why this fpaded this place : This slave-like habit, and these looks of care ? Thy flatt'rers yet wear filk, drink wine, lye soft; Hug their diseas'd perfumes, and have forgot That ever Timon was. Shame not these weeds, (28)

, Ву (27) Dry up thy marrows, veins, and plough-torn leas.] Mr. Warburton thinks, the uniformity of the metaphor requires that we should read,

Dry up tby harrow'd veins, and plough-torn leas, 'Tis certain, the verse is render'd much more beautiful by this reading; but as, unctious morsels following, by marrows the poet might mean what we call the fat of the land, I have not ventur'd to insert the conjecture into the text.

(28) Shame not these woods,] But how did Timon any more shame the woods by assuming the character of a cynick, than Apemantus did? The poet certainly meant to make Apemantus say, don't disgrace this garb, which thou hast only affected to assume; and to seem the creature thou art not by nature, but by the force and compulsion of poverty. We must therefore restore,

-Shame not these weeds. Apemantus in several other pallages of the scene reproaches him with his change of garb.

Why this spade? this place?
This Have-like habit?

-Do not assume my likeness.
If thou did'st put this lower cold babit on



By putting on the cunning of a carper.
Be thou a fiatt'rer now, and seek to thrive
By that which has undone thee; hinge thy knee,
And let his very breath whom thou’lt observe
Blow off thy cap; praise his most vicious strain,
And call it excellent. Thou waft told thus :
Thou gav'st thine ears, like tapsters, that bid welcome
To knaves, and all approachers': 'Tis moft jatt
That thou turn rascal: hadft thou wealth again,
Rascals should have't. Do not assume my likeness.

Tim. Were I like thee, I'd throw away myself.

Apem. Thou'st caft away thyself, being like thyself,
So long a madman, now a fool. What, think'st thou,
That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain,
Will put thy shirt on warm ? will these moist trees
That have out-liv'd the eagle, page thy heels,
And skip when thou point'it out? will the cold brook,
Candied with ice, cawdle thy morning taste
To cure thy o'er-night's surfeit? Call the creatures,
Whore naked natures live in all the spight
Of wreakful heav'n, whose bare unhoused trunks,
To the conflicting elements expos'd,
Answer mere nature; bid them flatter thee;
Oh! thou shalt find.

Tim. A fool of thee; depart.
Apem. I love thee better now, than e'er I did.
Tim. I hate thee worse.
Apem. Why?
Tim. Thou flatt'rest misery.
Apem. I flatter not; but fay, thou art a caitiff.
Tim. Why dost thou seek me out?
Apem. To vex thee,

Tim. Always a villain's office, or a fool's.
Doit please thyself in't? (29)

To castigate thy pride, 'twere well; but thou
Do'it it enforcedly: thou’dst courtier be,
Wert thou not beggar,--

Mr. Warburtont. (29) Tim. Always a villain's office, or a fool's,

Do please thyself ini'sy Apem. 47.



Apem. Ay.
Tim. What! a knave too?

Apem. If thou didft put this fower cold habit on
To castigate thy pride, 'twere well; but thou
Doft it enforcedly: thou'd it courtier be,
Wert thou not beggar. Willing misery
Out-lives in certain pomp; is crown'd before :
The one is filling ftill

, never compleat;
The other, at high wish : Beft states, contentless,
Have a distracted and most wretched being :
Worse than the worft, content.
Thou should it defire to die, being miserable.

Tim. Not by his breath, that is more miserable.
Thou art a llave, whom fortune's tender arm
With favour never clafpt; but bred a dog.
Hadst thou, like us, from our first swath proceeded
Through sweet degrees that this brief world affords,
To fuch, as may the passive drugs of it
Freely command; thou wouldt have plungod thyself
In general riot, melted down thy youth
In different beds of luft, and never learn'd
The icy precepts of respect, but followed
The sugar'd game before thee. But myself,
Who had the world as my confe&tionary,
The mouths, the tongues, the eyes, the hearts of men
At duty, more than I could frame employments ;
That numberless upon me stuck, as leaves
Do on the oak; have with one winter's brush
Fall’n 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.

Tm. Wbat! a knave t00?] Mr. Warburton proposes a correction here, which, tho'it opposes the reading of all the printed copies, has great juitness and propriety in it. He would read;

What! and know't too? The reasoning of the text, as it stands in the books, is, in some sort, concluding backward: or rather making a knave's and villain's office diffrent: which, surely, is abfurd. The correction quite removes the absurdity, and gives this sensible rebuke. « What! do'st " thou please thyself in vexing me, and at the same time know it to be the office of a villain or fooi?"



Thy nature did commence in fuff'rance, time
Hath made thee hard in't. Why shouldst thou hate men.
They never flatter'd thee. What hast thou given?
If thou wilt curse, thy father, that poor rag,
Must be thy subject; who in spight put ftuff
To some the-beggar, and compounded thee

rogue hereditary. Hence ! be gone-
If thou hadft not been born the worst of men,
Thou had it been knave and flatterer.

Apem. Art thou proud yet?
Tim. Ay, that I am not thee.
Apem. I, that I was no prodigal.

Tim. I, that I am one now.
Were all the wealth I have, shut up in thee,
I'd give the 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. (30)
Apem. So I shall mend my own, by th’lack of thine.
Tim. 'Tis not well mended fo, it is but botcht;
If not, I would it were.

Apem. What wouldst 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 trueft:
For here it sleeps, and does no hired harm.

Apem. Where ly'ft o' nights, Timon?

Tim. Under that's above me.
Where feed'st thou o'days, Apemantus ?

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.

(30) First mend thy company,----] Thus the old copies; but common sense and the whole tenour of the context warrant that it should be---my company.---) obferve, Mr. Rowe in his 8vo edition of our poet has likewise made this correction,


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