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 clofe Fire predominate his Smoak,
And be no Turn-coats: yet may your pains fix Months
Be quite contrary. And thatch
Your poor thin Roofs, with burthens of the Dead,
(Some that were hang'd) no matter:
Wear them, betray with them; whore still.
Paint 'till a Horfe may mire upon your Face;
A Pox of Wrinkles.
Both. Well, more Gold
Believe that we'll do any thing for Gold.
Tim. Confumptions fow
In hollow Bones of Man, ftrike their fharp Shins,
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 Flefh,
And not believes himself: Down with the Nofe,
Down with it flat, take the Bridge quite away
Of him, that his particular to forefee
Smells from the general Weal. Make curl'd Pate Ruffians
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 counfel with more Mony, bounteous Timon. Tim. More Whore, more Mischief firft; I have given you earnest.
Alc. Strike up the Drum towards 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 spok'st well of me.
Alc. Call'ft thou that harm?
Tim. Men daily find it. Get thee away,
And take thy Beagles with thee.
Alc. We but offend him, ftrike.
Tim. That Nature being fick of Man's Unkindness
Should yet be hungry: Common Mother, thou
Whofe Womb unmeasurable, and infinite Breast
Teems and feeds all; whofe felf fame mettle
Whereof thy proud Child, arrogant Man, is puft,
Engenders the black Toad, and Adder blew,
The gilded Newt, and Eyelefs venom'd Worm,
With all the abhorred Births below crifp Heaven,
Whereon Hyperions quickning Fire doth fhine;
Yield him, who all the Human Sons do's 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 prefented. O, a Root
dear Thanks:
Dry up thy Marrows, Veins, and Plough-torn Leas,
Whereof ingrateful Man with Liquorish Draughts
And Morfels unctious, greafes his pure Mind,
That from it all Confiderations flips
Enter Apemantus.
More Man? Plague, Plague.
Apem. I was directed hither. Men report,
Thou doft affect my Manners, and doft ufe them.
Tim. 'Tis then, because thou doft not keep a Dog
Whom I would imitate; Confumption catch thee.
Apem. This is in thee a Nature but affected,
A poor unmanly Melancholy fprung
From change of Fortune. Why this Spade? this place?
This Slave-like Habit, and thefe looks of Care?
Thy Flatterers yet wear Silk, drink Wine, lye soft,
Hug their difeafed Perfumes, and have forgot
That ever Timon was. Shame not thefe Woods,
By putting on the cunning of a Carper.
Be thou a Flatterer now, and feek to thrive
By that which has undone thee; hinge thy Knee,
And let his very Breath whom thou'lt obferve
Blow off thy Cap; praise his moft vicious Strain,
And call it excellent; thou waft told thus:
K3
Thou gav'ft thine Ears, like Tapfters, that bid welcome,
To Knaves, and all Approachers: 'Tis most just
That thou turn Rafcal, hadft thou Wealth again,
Rafcals fhould hav't. Do not affume my Likeness.
Tim. Were I like thee, I'd throw away my felf.
Apem. Thou haft caft away thy felf, being like thy felf
A Mad-man fo long, now a Fool: What think'st
That the bleak Air, thy boisterous Chamberlain,
Will put thy Shirt on warm? Will these moift Trees,
That have out-liv'd the Eagle, page thy Heels,
And Skip when thou point'ft out? Will the cold Brook
Candied with Ice, cawdle thy morning tafte
To cure thy o'er-night's Surfeit? Call the Creatures,
Whose naked Natures live in all the fpight
Of wreekful Heaven, whofe bare unhoused Trunks,
To the conflicting Elements expos'd,
Answer meer Nature; bid them flitter 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.
Tim. Thou flatter'ft Mifery.
Apem. I flatter not, but fay thou art a Caytiff.
Tim. Why doft thou feek me out?
Tim. Always a Villain's Office, or a Fool's. Doft please thy felf in't?
Tim. What! a Knave too?
Apem. If thou didst put this fowrc cold Habit on
To caftigate thy Pride, 'twere well; but thou
Doft it enforcedly: Thou'dft Courtier be again,
Wert thou not Beggar; willing Mifery
Out-lives incertain Pomp; is crown'd before:
The one is filling ftill, never Compleat;
The other, at high wifh, beft ftate Contentless,
Hath a distracted and moft wretched Being,
Worse than the worft, Content.
Thou shouldft defire to die, being miferable,
Tim. Not by his Breath, that is more miferable.
Thou art a Slave, whom Fortune's tender Arm
With Favour never clafpt; but bred a Dog.
Hadft thou like us from our firft fwath proceeded,
Through fweet Degrees that this brief World affords,
To fuch as may the paffive Drugs of it
Freely command; thou wouldst have plung'd thy felf
In general Riot, melted down thy Youth
In different Beds of Luft, and never learn'd
The icy Precepts of Refpect, but followed
The Sugared Game before thee. But my felf,
Who had the World as my Confectionary,
The Mouths, the Tongues, the Eyes, the Hearts of Men,
At Duty more than I could frame Employments;
That numberlefs upon me ftuck, as leaves
Do on the Oak, have with one Winters 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 fome burthen.
Thy Nature did commence in Sufferance, Time
Hath made thee hard in't. Why fhouldft thou hate Men?
They never flatter'd thee. What haft thou given?
If thou wilt Curfe; thy Father, that poor Rag,
Must be thy Subject; who in fpight put ftuff
To fome She-Beggar, and compounded thee
Poor Rogue, hereditary. Hence! be gone
If thou hadft not been born the worst of Men,
Thou hadft been a 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 fhut up in thée,
I'd give thee leave to hang it. Get thee gone:
That the whole Life of Athens were in this,
Thus would I eat it.
Apem. Here I will mend thy Feaft.
Tim. First mend my Company, take away thy felf. Apem. So I fhall mend mine own, by th'lack of thine. Tim. 'Tis not well mended fo, it is by 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, fo I have,
Apem. Here is no ufe for Gold.
Tim. The beft and trueft:
For here it fleeps, and does no hired harm.
Apem. Where ly'ft a Nights, Timon?
Tim. Under that's above me.
Where feed'ft thou a 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 fawce thy Dishes.
Apem. The middle of humanity thou never kneweft, but the extremity of both ends. When thou waft in thy Gilt, and thy Perfume, they mockt thee, for too much curiofity; in thy Rags thou knoweft none, but art defpis'd for the contrary. There's a Medler for thee, eat it,
Tim. On what I hate, I feed not.
Apem. Doft hate a Medler?
Tim. Ay, though it look like thee,
Apem. And th'hadft hated Medlers fooner, thou shouldft have loved thy felf better now. What Man did'st thou ever know unthrift, that was beloved after his Means?
Tim. Who without thofe Means thou talk'ft of, didft thou ever know belov'd?
Tim. I understand thee, thou hadft fome Mears to keep a Dog.
Apem. What things in the World canft thou nearest compare to thy Flatterers?
Tim. Women neareft; 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 Beafts, to be rid of the Men.
Tim. Wouldft thou have thy felf fall in the confufion of Men, and remain a Beaft with the Beasts.
Tim. A beaftly Ambition, which the Gods grant thee
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