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.

Alcib. I am thy friend, and pity thee, dear Timon.

Tim. How dost thou pity him, whom thou dost trouble?

I had rather be alone.

Alcib.

Why, fare thee well;

Keep't, I cannot eat it.

Here's some gold for thee.

Tim.

Alcib. When I have laid proud Athens on a

heap,

Tim. Warr'st thou 'gainst Athens ?

Alcib.

Ay, Timon, and have cause.

Tim. The gods confound them all i'thy conquest;

and

Thee after, when thou hast conquer'd!

Alcib.

Tim. That,

Why me, Timon?

By killing villains, thou wast born to conquer

My country.

Put up thy gold; Go on, - - here's gold,
Be as a planetary plague, when Jove

go on;

Will o'er some high-vic'd city hang his poison
In the sick air: Let not thy sword skip one:
Pity not honour'd age for his white beard,

He's an usurer: Strike me the counterfeit matron;
It is her habit only that is honest:

Let not the virgin's cheek

3

Make soft thy trenchant sword; spare not the

babe,

Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their 1 mercy;

Think it a bastard 4, whom the oracle

Hath doubtfully pronounc'd thy throat shall cut,

3 Cutting. 4 An allusion to the tale of Oedipus.

And mince it sans remorse':

jects';

Swear against ob

Put armour on thine ears, and on thine eyes; Whose proof, nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes,

Nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding,
Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay thy soldiers:
Make large confusion; and, thy fury spent,
Confounded be thyself! speak not, be gone.
Alcib. Hast thou gold yet? I'll take the gold
thou giv'st me,

Not all thy counsel.

Tim. Dost thou, or dost thou not, heaven's curse
upon thee!

Alcib. Strike up the drum towards Athens.
Farewell, Timon;

If I thrive well, I'll visit thee again.

Tim. If I hope well, I'll never see thee more.
Alcib. I never did thee harm.

Tim. Yes, thou spok'st well of me.

Alcib.

Call'st thou that harm?

Tim. Men daily find it such. Get thee away.

Alcib. Strike.

We but offend him. [Drum beats. Exit ALCIBIades. Tim. That nature, being sick of man's unkind

ness,

Should yet be hungry! - Common mother, thou,
[Digging.
Whose womb unmeasurable, and infinite breast,
Teems, and feeds all; whose self-same mettle,
Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is puff'd,
Engenders the black toad, and adder blue,
The gilded newt, and eyeless venom'd worm',
With all the abhorred births below crisp heaven
Whereon Hyperion's quickening fire doth shine;

5 Without pity.

8

6 i. e. Against objects of charity and compassion. 7 The serpent called the blind-worm.

Curved.

Yield him, who all thy human sons doth 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 tigers, 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, vines, and plough-torn leas; Whereof ingrateful man, with liquorish draughts, And morsels unctuous, 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 dost 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.

place?

Why this spade? this

This slave-like habit? and these looks of care ?
Thy flatterers yet wear silk, drink wine, lie soft,
Hug their diseas'd perfumes, and have forgot
That ever Timon was. Shame not these woods,
By putting on the cunning of a carper.
Be thou a flatterer 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 wast told thus;

Thou gav'st thine ears, like tapsters, that bid wel

come,

To knaves, and all approachers: 'Tis most just, That thou turn rascal; had'st thou wealth again, Rascals should have't. Do not assume my likeness.

Tim. Were I like thee, I'd throw away myself. Apem. Thou hast cast away thyself, being like thyself;

A madman so long, now a fool: What, think'st That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain, Will put thy shirt on warm? Will these moss'd trees,

That have outliv'd the eagle, page thy heels, And skip when thou point'st out? Will the cold brook,

Candied with ice, caudle thy morning taste,

To cure thy o'er-night surfeit? call the crea

Whose naked natures live in all the spite

Of wreakful heaven; whose bare unhoused trunks, To the conflicting elements expos'd,

Answer mere nature, -bid them flatter thee;
O! 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.

Tim.

Why?

Thou flatter'st misery.

Apem. I flatter not; but say, 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. Dost please thyself in't?

Apem.

Tim.

Ay.

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 incertain pomp, is crown'd before': The one is filling still, never complete ; The other, at high wish: Best state, contentless,

9 i. c. Arrives sooner at the completion of its wishes.

Hath a distracted and most wretched being,
Worse than the worst, content.

Thou should'st desire to die, being miserable.

Tim. Not by his breath' that is more miserable.
Thou art a slave, whom fortune's tender arm
With favour never clasp'd; but bred a dog.
Hadst thou, like us, from our first swath', proceeded
The sweet degrees that this brief world affords
To such as may the passive drugs of it

Freely command, thou would'st have plung'd thyself
In gen'ral riot; and have never learn'd
The icy precepts of respect, but follow'd
The sugar'd game before thee. But myself,
Who had the world as my confectionary;

The mouths, the tongues, the eyes and hearts of

men'

At duty, more than I could frame employment;
That numberless upon me stuck, as leaves
Do on the oak, have with one winter's brush
Fell 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:
Thy nature did commence in sufferance, time
Hath made thee hard in't. Why should'st 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 spite, put stuff
To some she beggar, and compounded thee
Poor rogue hereditary. Hence! be gone!
If thou hadst not been born the worst of men,
Thou hadst been a knave, and flatterer.

Apem.

Art thou proud yet?