{"collection":"sks","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/sks/toa/toa.htm","path":"sks/toa/toa.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/sks/toa/toa.htm","text":"TIMON OF ATHENS\nDRAMATIS PERSONAE\nTIMON of Athens.\nLUCIUS |\n|\nLUCULLUS | flattering lords.\n|\nSEMPRONIUS |\nVENTIDIUS one of Timon's false friends.\nALCIBIADES an Athenian captain.\nAPEMANTUS a churlish philosopher.\nFLAVIUS steward to Timon.\nPoet, Painter, Jeweller, and Merchant. (Poet:)\n(Painter:)\n(Jeweller:)\n(Merchant:)\nAn old Athenian. (Old Athenian:)\nFLAMINIUS |\n|\nLUCILIUS | servants to Timon.\n|\nSERVILIUS |\nCAPHIS |\n|\nPHILOTUS |\n|\nTITUS |\n| servants to Timon's creditors.\nLUCIUS |\n|\nHORTENSIUS |\n|\nAnd others |\nA Page. (Page:)\nA Fool. (Fool:)\nThree Strangers.\n(First Stranger:)\n(Second Stranger:)\n(Third Stranger:)\nPHRYNIA |\n| mistresses to Alcibiades.\nTIMANDRA |\nCupid and Amazons in the mask. (Cupid:)\nOther Lords, Senators, Officers, Soldiers,\nBanditti, and Attendants.\n(First Lord:)\n(Second Lord:)\n(Third Lord:)\n(Fourth Lord:)\n(Senator:)\n(First Senator:)\n(Second Senator:)\n(Third Senator:)\n(Soldier:)\n(First Bandit:)\n(Second Bandit:)\n(Third Bandit:)\n(Messenger:)\n(Servant:)\n(First Servant:)\n(Second Servant:)\n(Third Servant:)\n(Varro's First Servant:)\n(Varro's Second Servant:)\n(Lucilius' Servant:)\nSCENE Athens, and the neighbouring woods.\nTIMON OF ATHENS\nACT I\nSCENE I Athens. A hall in Timon's house.\n[Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and\nothers, at several doors]\nPoet Good day, sir.\nPainter I am glad you're well.\nPoet I have not seen you long: how goes the world?\nPainter It wears, sir, as it grows.\nPoet Ay, that's well known:\nBut what particular rarity? what strange,\nWhich manifold record not matches? See,\nMagic of bounty! all these spirits thy power\nHath conjured to attend. I know the merchant.\nPainter I know them both; th' other's a jeweller.\nMerchant O, 'tis a worthy lord.\nJeweller Nay, that's most fix'd.\nMerchant A most incomparable man, breathed, as it were,\nTo an untirable and continuate goodness:\nHe passes.\nJeweller: I have a jewel here--\nMerchant O, pray, let's see't: for the Lord Timon, sir?\nJeweller: If he will touch the estimate: but, for that--\nPoet [Reciting to himself] 'When we for recompense have\npraised the vile,\nIt stains the glory in that happy verse\nWhich aptly sings the good.'\nMerchant 'Tis a good form.\n[Looking at the jewel]\nJeweller And rich: here is a water, look ye.\nPainter You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedication\nTo the great lord.\nPoet A thing slipp'd idly from me.\nOur poesy is as a gum, which oozes\nFrom whence 'tis nourish'd: the fire i' the flint\nShows not till it be struck; our gentle flame\nProvokes itself and like the current flies\nEach bound it chafes. What have you there?\nPainter A picture, sir. When comes your book forth?\nPoet Upon the heels of my presentment, sir.\nLet's see your piece.\nPainter 'Tis a good piece.\nPoet So 'tis: this comes off well and excellent.\nPainter Indifferent.\nPoet Admirable: how this grace\nSpeaks his own standing! what a mental power\nThis eye shoots forth! how big imagination\nMoves in this lip! to the dumbness of the gesture\nOne might interpret.\nPainter It is a pretty mocking of the life.\nHere is a touch; is't good?\nPoet I will say of it,\nIt tutors nature: artificial strife\nLives in these touches, livelier than life.\n[Enter certain Senators, and pass over]\nPainter How this lord is follow'd!\nPoet The senators of Athens: happy man!\nPainter Look, more!\nPoet You see this confluence, this great flood\nof visitors.\nI have, in this rough work, shaped out a man,\nWhom this beneath world doth embrace and hug\nWith amplest entertainment: my free drift\nHalts not particularly, but moves itself\nIn a wide sea of wax: no levell'd malice\nInfects one comma in the course I hold;\nBut flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on,\nLeaving no tract behind.\nPainter How shall I understand you?\nPoet I will unbolt to you.\nYou see how all conditions, how all minds,\nAs well of glib and slippery creatures as\nOf grave and austere quality, tender down\nTheir services to Lord Timon: his large fortune\nUpon his good and gracious nature hanging\nSubdues and properties to his love and tendance\nAll sorts of hearts; yea, from the glass-faced flatterer\nTo Apemantus, that few things loves better\nThan to abhor himself: even he drops down\nThe knee before him, and returns in peace\nMost rich in Timon's nod.\nPainter I saw them speak together.\nPoet Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill\nFeign'd Fortune to be throned: the base o' the mount\nIs rank'd with all deserts, all kind of natures,\nThat labour on the bosom of this sphere\nTo propagate their states: amongst them all,\nWhose eyes are on this sovereign lady fix'd,\nOne do I personate of Lord Timon's frame,\nWhom Fortune with her ivory hand wafts to her;\nWhose present grace to present slaves and servants\nTranslates his rivals.\nPainter 'Tis conceived to scope.\nThis throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks,\nWith one man beckon'd from the rest below,\nBowing his head against the sleepy mount\nTo climb his happiness, would be well express'd\nIn our condition.\nPoet Nay, sir, but hear me on.\nAll those which were his fellows but of late,\nSome better than his value, on the moment\nFollow his strides, his lobbies fill with tendance,\nRain sacrificial whisperings in his ear,\nMake sacred even his stirrup, and through him\nDrink the free air.\nPainter Ay, marry, what of these?\nPoet When Fortune in her shift and change of mood\nSpurns down her late beloved, all his dependants\nWhich labour'd after him to the mountain's top\nEven on their knees and hands, let him slip down,\nNot one accompanying his declining foot.\nPainter 'Tis common:\nA thousand moral paintings I can show\nThat shall demonstrate these quick blows of Fortune's\nMore pregnantly than words. Yet you do well\nTo show Lord Timon that mean eyes have seen\nThe foot above the head.\n[Trumpets sound. Enter TIMON, addressing himself\ncourteously to every suitor; a Messenger from\nVENTIDIUS talking with him; LUCILIUS and other\nservants following]\nTIMON Imprison'd is he, say you?\nMessenger Ay, my good lord: five talents is his debt,\nHis means most short, his creditors most strait:\nYour honourable letter he desires\nTo those have shut him up; which failing,\nPeriods his comfort.\nTIMON Noble Ventidius! Well;\nI am not of that feather to shake off\nMy friend when he must need me. I do know him\nA gentleman that well deserves a help:\nWhich he shall have: I'll pay the debt,\nand free him.\nMessenger Your lordship ever binds him.\nTIMON Commend me to him: I will send his ransom;\nAnd being enfranchised, bid him come to me.\n'Tis not enough to help the feeble up,\nBut to support him after. Fare you well.\nMessenger All happiness to your honour!\n[Exit]\n[Enter an old Athenian]\nOld Athenian Lord Timon, hear me speak.\nTIMON Freely, good father.\nOld Athenian Thou hast a servant named Lucilius.\nTIMON I have so: what of him?\nOld Athenian Most noble Timon, call the man before thee.\nTIMON Attends he here, or no? Lucilius!\nLUCILIUS Here, at your lordship's service.\nOld Athenian This fellow here, Lord Timon, this thy creature,\nBy night frequents my house. I am a man\nThat from my first have been inclined to thrift;\nAnd my estate deserves an heir more raised\nThan one which holds a trencher.\nTIMON Well; what further?\nOld Athenian One only daughter have I, no kin else,\nOn whom I may confer what I have got:\nThe maid is fair, o' the youngest for a bride,\nAnd I have bred her at my dearest cost\nIn qualities of the best. This man of thine\nAttempts her love: I prithee, noble lord,\nJoin with me to forbid him her resort;\nMyself have spoke in vain.\nTIMON The man is honest.\nOld Athenian Therefore he will be, Timon:\nHis honesty rewards him in itself;\nIt must not bear my daughter.\nTIMON Does she love him?\nOld Athenian She is young and apt:\nOur own precedent passions do instruct us\nWhat levity's in youth.\nTIMON [To LUCILIUS] Love you the maid?\nLUCILIUS Ay, my good lord, and she accepts of it.\nOld Athenian If in her marriage my consent be missing,\nI call the gods to witness, I will choose\nMine heir from forth the beggars of the world,\nAnd dispossess her all.\nTIMON How shall she be endow'd,\nif she be mated with an equal husband?\nOld Athenian Three talents on the present; in future, all.\nTIMON This gentleman of mine hath served me long:\nTo build his fortune I will strain a little,\nFor 'tis a bond in men. Give him thy daughter:\nWhat you bestow, in him I'll counterpoise,\nAnd make him weigh with her.\nOld Athenian Most noble lord,\nPawn me to this your honour, she is his.\nTIMON My hand to thee; mine honour on my promise.\nLUCILIUS Humbly I thank your lordship: never may\nThe state or fortune fall into my keeping,\nWhich is not owed to you!\n[Exeunt LUCILIUS and Old Athenian]\nPoet Vouchsafe my labour, and long live your lordship!\nTIMON I thank you; you shall hear from me anon:\nGo not away. What have you there, my friend?\nPainter A piece of painting, which I do beseech\nYour lordship to accept.\nTIMON Painting is welcome.\nThe painting is almost the natural man;\nor since dishonour traffics with man's nature,\nHe is but outside: these pencill'd figures are\nEven such as they give out. I like your work;\nAnd you shall find I like it: wait attendance\nTill you hear further from me.\nPainter The gods preserve ye!\nTIMON Well fare you, gentleman: give me your hand;\nWe must needs dine together. Sir, your jewel\nHath suffer'd under praise.\nJeweller What, my lord! dispraise?\nTIMON A more satiety of commendations.\nIf I should pay you for't as 'tis extoll'd,\nIt would unclew me quite.\nJeweller My lord, 'tis rated\nAs those which sell would give: but you well know,\nThings of like value differing in the owners\nAre prized by their masters: believe't, dear lord,\nYou mend the jewel by the wearing it.\nTIMON Well mock'd.\nMerchant No, my good lord; he speaks the common tongue,\nWhich all men speak with him.\nTIMON Look, who comes here: will you be chid?\n[Enter APEMANTUS]\nJeweller: We'll bear, with your lordship.\nMerchant He'll spare none.\nTIMON Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus!\nAPEMANTUS Till I be gentle, stay thou for thy good morrow;\nWhen thou art Timon's dog, and these knaves honest.\nTIMON Why dost thou call them knaves? thou know'st them not.\nAPEMANTUS Are they not Athenians?\nTIMON Yes.\nAPEMANTUS Then I repent not.\nJeweller: You know me, Apemantus?\nAPEMANTUS Thou know'st I do: I call'd thee by thy name.\nTIMON Thou art proud, Apemantus.\nAPEMANTUS Of nothing so much as that I am not like Timon.\nTIMON Whither art going?\nAPEMANTUS To knock out an honest Athenian's brains.\nTIMON That's a deed thou'lt die for.\nAPEMANTUS Right, if doing nothing be death by the law.\nTIMON How likest thou this picture, Apemantus?\nAPEMANTUS The best, for the innocence.\nTIMON Wrought he not well that painted it?\nAPEMANTUS He wrought better that made the painter; and yet\nhe's but a filthy piece of work.\nPainter You're a dog.\nAPEMANTUS Thy mother's of my generation: what's she, if I be a dog?\nTIMON Wilt dine with me, Apemantus?\nAPEMANTUS No; I eat not lords.\nTIMON An thou shouldst, thou 'ldst anger ladies.\nAPEMANTUS O, they eat lords; so they come by great bellies.\nTIMON That's a lascivious apprehension.\nAPEMANTUS So thou apprehendest it: take it for thy labour.\nTIMON How dost thou like this jewel, Apemantus?\nAPEMANTUS Not so well as plain-dealing, which will not cost a\nman a doit.\nTIMON What dost thou think 'tis worth?\nAPEMANTUS Not worth my thinking. How now, poet!\nPoet How now, philosopher!\nAPEMANTUS Thou liest.\nPoet Art not one?\nAPEMANTUS Yes.\nPoet Then I lie not.\nAPEMANTUS Art not a poet?\nPoet Yes.\nAPEMANTUS Then thou liest: look in thy last work, where thou\nhast feigned him a worthy fellow.\nPoet That's not feigned; he is so.\nAPEMANTUS Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay thee for thy\nlabour: he that loves to be flattered is worthy o'\nthe flatterer. Heavens, that I were a lord!\nTIMON What wouldst do then, Apemantus?\nAPEMANTUS E'en as Apemantus does now; hate a lord with my heart.\nTIMON What, thyself?\nAPEMANTUS Ay.\nTIMON Wherefore?\nAPEMANTUS That I had no angry wit to be a lord.\nArt not thou a merchant?\nMerchant Ay, Apemantus.\nAPEMANTUS Traffic confound thee, if the gods will not!\nMerchant If traffic do it, the gods do it.\nAPEMANTUS Traffic's thy god; and thy god confound thee!\n[Trumpet sounds. Enter a Messenger]\nTIMON What trumpet's that?\nMessenger 'Tis Alcibiades, and some twenty horse,\nAll of companionship.\nTIMON Pray, entertain them; give them guide to us.\n[Exeunt some Attendants]\nYou must needs dine with me: go not you hence\nTill I have thank'd you: when dinner's done,\nShow me this piece. I am joyful of your sights.\n[Enter ALCIBIADES, with the rest]\nMost welcome, sir!\nAPEMANTUS So, so, there!\nAches contract and starve your supple joints!\nThat there should be small love 'mongst these\nsweet knaves,\nAnd all this courtesy! The strain of man's bred out\nInto baboon and monkey.\nALCIBIADES Sir, you have saved my longing, and I feed\nMost hungerly on your sight.\nTIMON Right welcome, sir!\nEre we depart, we'll share a bounteous time\nIn different pleasures. Pray you, let us in.\n[Exeunt all except APEMANTUS]\n[Enter two Lords]\nFirst Lord What time o' day is't, Apemantus?\nAPEMANTUS Time to be honest.\nFirst Lord That time serves still.\nAPEMANTUS The more accursed thou, that still omitt'st it.\nSecond Lord Thou art going to Lord Timon's feast?\nAPEMANTUS Ay, to see meat fill knaves and wine heat fools.\nSecond Lord Fare thee well, fare thee well.\nAPEMANTUS Thou art a fool to bid me farewell twice.\nSecond Lord Why, Apemantus?\nAPEMANTUS Shouldst have kept one to thyself, for I mean to\ngive thee none.\nFirst Lord Hang thyself!\nAPEMANTUS No, I will do nothing at thy bidding: make thy\nrequests to thy friend.\nSecond Lord Away, unpeaceable dog, or I'll spurn thee hence!\nAPEMANTUS I will fly, like a dog, the heels o' the ass.\n[Exit]\nFirst Lord He's opposite to humanity. Come, shall we in,\nAnd taste Lord Timon's bounty? he outgoes\nThe very heart of kindness.\nSecond Lord He pours it out; Plutus, the god of gold,\nIs but his steward: no meed, but he repays\nSevenfold above itself; no gift to him,\nBut breeds the giver a return exceeding\nAll use of quittance.\nFirst Lord The noblest mind he carries\nThat ever govern'd man.\nSecond Lord Long may he live in fortunes! Shall we in?\nFirst Lord I'll keep you company.\n[Exeunt]\nTIMON OF ATHENS\nACT I\nSCENE II A banqueting-room in Timon's house.\n[Hautboys playing loud music. A great banquet\nserved in; FLAVIUS and others attending; then enter\nTIMON, ALCIBIADES, Lords, Senators, and VENTIDIUS.\nThen comes, dropping, after all, APEMANTUS,\ndiscontentedly, like himself]\nVENTIDIUS Most honour'd Timon,\nIt hath pleased the gods to remember my father's age,\nAnd call him to long peace.\nHe is gone happy, and has left me rich:\nThen, as in grateful virtue I am bound\nTo your free heart, I do return those talents,\nDoubled with thanks and service, from whose help\nI derived liberty.\nTIMON O, by no means,\nHonest Ventidius; you mistake my love:\nI gave it freely ever; and there's none\nCan truly say he gives, if he receives:\nIf our betters play at that game, we must not dare\nTo imitate them; faults that are rich are fair.\nVENTIDIUS A noble spirit!\nTIMON Nay, my lords,\n[They all stand ceremoniously looking on TIMON]\nCeremony was but devised at first\nTo set a gloss on faint deeds, hollow welcomes,\nRecanting goodness, sorry ere 'tis shown;\nBut where there is true friendship, there needs none.\nPray, sit; more welcome are ye to my fortunes\nThan my fortunes to me.\n[They sit]\nFirst Lord My lord, we always have confess'd it.\nAPEMANTUS Ho, ho, confess'd it! hang'd it, have you not?\nTIMON O, Apemantus, you are welcome.\nAPEMANTUS No;\nYou shall not make me welcome:\nI come to have thee thrust me out of doors.\nTIMON Fie, thou'rt a churl; ye've got a humour there\nDoes not become a man: 'tis much to blame.\nThey say, my lords, 'ira furor brevis est;' but yond\nman is ever angry. Go, let him have a table by\nhimself, for he does neither affect company, nor is\nhe fit for't, indeed.\nAPEMANTUS Let me stay at thine apperil, Timon: I come to\nobserve; I give thee warning on't.\nTIMON I take no heed of thee; thou'rt an Athenian,\ntherefore welcome: I myself would have no power;\nprithee, let my meat make thee silent.\nAPEMANTUS I scorn thy meat; 'twould choke me, for I should\nne'er flatter thee. O you gods, what a number of\nmen eat Timon, and he sees 'em not! It grieves me\nto see so many dip their meat in one man's blood;\nand all the madness is, he cheers them up too.\nI wonder men dare trust themselves with men:\nMethinks they should invite them without knives;\nGood for their meat, and safer for their lives.\nThere's much example for't; the fellow that sits\nnext him now, parts bread with him, pledges the\nbreath of him in a divided draught, is the readiest\nman to kill him: 't has been proved. If I were a\nhuge man, I should fear to drink at meals;\nLest they should spy my windpipe's dangerous notes:\nGreat men should drink with harness on their throats.\nTIMON My lord, in heart; and let the health go round.\nSecond Lord Let it flow this way, my good lord.\nAPEMANTUS Flow this way! A brave fellow! he keeps his tides\nwell. Those healths will make thee and thy state\nlook ill, Timon. Here's that which is too weak to\nbe a sinner, honest water, which ne'er left man i' the mire:\nThis and my food are equals; there's no odds:\nFeasts are too proud to give thanks to the gods.\nApemantus' grace.\nImmortal gods, I crave no pelf;\nI pray for no man but myself:\nGrant I may never prove so fond,\nTo trust man on his oath or bond;\nOr a harlot, for her weeping;\nOr a dog, that seems a-sleeping:\nOr a keeper with my freedom;\nOr my friends, if I should need 'em.\nAmen. So fall to't:\nRich men sin, and I eat root.\n[Eats and drinks]\nMuch good dich thy good heart, Apemantus!\nTIMON Captain Alcibiades, your heart's in the field now.\nALCIBIADES My heart is ever at your service, my lord.\nTIMON You had rather be at a breakfast of enemies than a\ndinner of friends.\nALCIBIADES So the were bleeding-new, my lord, there's no meat\nlike 'em: I could wish my best friend at such a feast.\nAPEMANTUS Would all those fatterers were thine enemies then,\nthat then thou mightst kill 'em and bid me to 'em!\nFirst Lord Might we but have that happiness, my lord, that you\nwould once use our hearts, whereby we might express\nsome part of our zeals, we should think ourselves\nfor ever perfect.\nTIMON O, no doubt, my good friends, but the gods\nthemselves have provided that I shall have much help\nfrom you: how had you been my friends else? why\nhave you that charitable title from thousands, did\nnot you chiefly belong to my heart? I have told\nmore of you to myself than you can with modesty\nspeak in your own behalf; and thus far I confirm\nyou. O you gods, think I, what need we have any\nfriends, if we should ne'er have need of 'em? they\nwere the most needless creatures living, should we\nne'er have use for 'em, and would most resemble\nsweet instruments hung up in cases that keep their\nsounds to themselves. Why, I have often wished\nmyself poorer, that I might come nearer to you. We\nare born to do benefits: and what better or\nproperer can we can our own than the riches of our\nfriends? O, what a precious comfort 'tis, to have\nso many, like brothers, commanding one another's\nfortunes! O joy, e'en made away ere 't can be born!\nMine eyes cannot hold out water, methinks: to\nforget their faults, I drink to you.\nAPEMANTUS Thou weepest to make them drink, Timon.\nSecond Lord Joy had the like conception in our eyes\nAnd at that instant like a babe sprung up.\nAPEMANTUS Ho, ho! I laugh to think that babe a bastard.\nThird Lord I promise you, my lord, you moved me much.\nAPEMANTUS Much!\n[Tucket, within]\nTIMON What means that trump?\n[Enter a Servant]\nHow now?\nServant Please you, my lord, there are certain\nladies most desirous of admittance.\nTIMON Ladies! what are their wills?\nServant There comes with them a forerunner, my lord, which\nbears that office, to signify their pleasures.\nTIMON I pray, let them be admitted.\n[Enter Cupid]\nCupid Hail to thee, worthy Timon, and to all\nThat of his bounties taste! The five best senses\nAcknowledge thee their patron; and come freely\nTo gratulate thy plenteous bosom: th' ear,\nTaste, touch and smell, pleased from thy tale rise;\nThey only now come but to feast thine eyes.\nTIMON They're welcome all; let 'em have kind admittance:\nMusic, make their welcome!\n[Exit Cupid]\nFirst Lord You see, my lord, how ample you're beloved.\n[Music. Re-enter Cupid with a mask of Ladies\nas Amazons, with lutes in their hands,\ndancing and playing]\nAPEMANTUS Hoy-day, what a sweep of vanity comes this way!\nThey dance! they are mad women.\nLike madness is the glory of this life.\nAs this pomp shows to a little oil and root.\nWe make ourselves fools, to disport ourselves;\nAnd spend our flatteries, to drink those men\nUpon whose age we void it up again,\nWith poisonous spite and envy.\nWho lives that's not depraved or depraves?\nWho dies, that bears not one spurn to their graves\nOf their friends' gift?\nI should fear those that dance before me now\nWould one day stamp upon me: 't has been done;\nMen shut their doors against a setting sun.\n[The Lords rise from table, with much adoring of\nTIMON; and to show their loves, each singles out an\nAmazon, and all dance, men with women, a lofty\nstrain or two to the hautboys, and cease]\nTIMON You have done our pleasures much grace, fair ladies,\nSet a fair fashion on our entertainment,\nWhich was not half so beautiful and kind;\nYou have added worth unto 't and lustre,\nAnd entertain'd me with mine own device;\nI am to thank you for 't.\nFirst Lady My lord, you take us even at the best.\nAPEMANTUS 'Faith, for the worst is filthy; and would not hold\ntaking, I doubt me.\nTIMON Ladies, there is an idle banquet attends you:\nPlease you to dispose yourselves.\nAll Ladies Most thankfully, my lord.\n[Exeunt Cupid and Ladies]\nTIMON Flavius.\nFLAVIUS My lord?\nTIMON The little casket bring me hither.\nFLAVIUS Yes, my lord. More jewels yet!\nThere is no crossing him in 's humour;\n[Aside]\nElse I should tell him,--well, i' faith I should,\nWhen all's spent, he 'ld be cross'd then, an he could.\n'Tis pity bounty had not eyes behind,\nThat man might ne'er be wretched for his mind.\n[Exit]\nFirst Lord Where be our men?\nServant Here, my lord, in readiness.\nSecond Lord Our horses!\n[Re-enter FLAVIUS, with the casket]\nTIMON O my friends,\nI have one word to say to you: look you, my good lord,\nI must entreat you, honour me so much\nAs to advance this jewel; accept it and wear it,\nKind my lord.\nFirst Lord I am so far already in your gifts,--\nAll So are we all.\n[Enter a Servant]\nServant My lord, there are certain nobles of the senate\nNewly alighted, and come to visit you.\nTIMON They are fairly welcome.\nFLAVIUS I beseech your honour,\nVouchsafe me a word; it does concern you near.\nTIMON Near! why then, another time I'll hear thee:\nI prithee, let's be provided to show them\nentertainment.\nFLAVIUS [Aside] I scarce know how.\n[Enter a Second Servant]\nSecond Servant May it please your honour, Lord Lucius,\nOut of his free love, hath presented to you\nFour milk-white horses, trapp'd in silver.\nTIMON I shall accept them fairly; let the presents\nBe worthily entertain'd.\n[Enter a third Servant]\nHow now! what news?\nThird Servant Please you, my lord, that honourable\ngentleman, Lord Lucullus, entreats your company\nto-morrow to hunt with him, and has sent your honour\ntwo brace of greyhounds.\nTIMON I'll hunt with him; and let them be received,\nNot without fair reward.\nFLAVIUS [Aside] What will this come to?\nHe commands us to provide, and give great gifts,\nAnd all out of an empty coffer:\nNor will he know his purse, or yield me this,\nTo show him what a beggar his heart is,\nBeing of no power to make his wishes good:\nHis promises fly so beyond his state\nThat what he speaks is all in debt; he owes\nFor every word: he is so kind that he now\nPays interest for 't; his land's put to their books.\nWell, would I were gently put out of office\nBefore I were forced out!\nHappier is he that has no friend to feed\nThan such that do e'en enemies exceed.\nI bleed inwardly for my lord.\n[Exit]\nTIMON You do yourselves\nMuch wrong, you bate too much of your own merits:\nHere, my lord, a trifle of our love.\nSecond Lord With more than common thanks I will receive it.\nThird Lord O, he's the very soul of bounty!\nTIMON And now I remember, my lord, you gave\nGood words the other day of a bay courser\nI rode on: it is yours, because you liked it.\nSecond Lord O, I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, in that.\nTIMON You may take my word, my lord; I know, no man\nCan justly praise but what he does affect:\nI weigh my friend's affection with mine own;\nI'll tell you true. I'll call to you.\nAll Lords O, none so welcome.\nTIMON I take all and your several visitations\nSo kind to heart, 'tis not enough to give;\nMethinks, I could deal kingdoms to my friends,\nAnd ne'er be weary. Alcibiades,\nThou art a soldier, therefore seldom rich;\nIt comes in charity to thee: for all thy living\nIs 'mongst the dead, and all the lands thou hast\nLie in a pitch'd field.\nALCIBIADES Ay, defiled land, my lord.\nFirst Lord We are so virtuously bound--\nTIMON And so\nAm I to you.\nSecond Lord So infinitely endear'd--\nTIMON All to you. Lights, more lights!\nFirst Lord The best of happiness,\nHonour and fortunes, keep with you, Lord Timon!\nTIMON Ready for his friends.\n[Exeunt all but APEMANTUS and TIMON]\nAPEMANTUS What a coil's here!\nServing of becks and jutting-out of bums!\nI doubt whether their legs be worth the sums\nThat are given for 'em. Friendship's full of dregs:\nMethinks, false hearts should never have sound legs,\nThus honest fools lay out their wealth on court'sies.\nTIMON Now, Apemantus, if thou wert not sullen, I would be\ngood to thee.\nAPEMANTUS No, I'll nothing: for if I should be bribed too,\nthere would be none left to rail upon thee, and then\nthou wouldst sin the faster. Thou givest so long,\nTimon, I fear me thou wilt give away thyself in\npaper shortly: what need these feasts, pomps and\nvain-glories?\nTIMON Nay, an you begin to rail on society once, I am\nsworn not to give regard to you. Farewell; and come\nwith better music.\n[Exit]\nAPEMANTUS So:\nThou wilt not hear me now; thou shalt not then:\nI'll lock thy heaven from thee.\nO, that men's ears should be\nTo counsel deaf, but not to flattery!\n[Exit]\nTIMON OF ATHENS\nACT II\nSCENE I A Senator's house.\n[Enter Senator, with papers in his hand]\nSenator And late, five thousand: to Varro and to Isidore\nHe owes nine thousand; besides my former sum,\nWhich makes it five and twenty. Still in motion\nOf raging waste? It cannot hold; it will not.\nIf I want gold, steal but a beggar's dog,\nAnd give it Timon, why, the dog coins gold.\nIf I would sell my horse, and buy twenty more\nBetter than he, why, give my horse to Timon,\nAsk nothing, give it him, it foals me, straight,\nAnd able horses. No porter at his gate,\nBut rather one that smiles and still invites\nAll that pass by. It cannot hold: no reason\nCan found his state in safety. Caphis, ho!\nCaphis, I say!\n[Enter CAPHIS]\nCAPHIS Here, sir; what is your pleasure?\nSenator Get on your cloak, and haste you to Lord Timon;\nImportune him for my moneys; be not ceased\nWith slight denial, nor then silenced when--\n'Commend me to your master'--and the cap\nPlays in the right hand, thus: but tell him,\nMy uses cry to me, I must serve my turn\nOut of mine own; his days and times are past\nAnd my reliances on his fracted dates\nHave smit my credit: I love and honour him,\nBut must not break my back to heal his finger;\nImmediate are my needs, and my relief\nMust not be toss'd and turn'd to me in words,\nBut find supply immediate. Get you gone:\nPut on a most importunate aspect,\nA visage of demand; for, I do fear,\nWhen every feather sticks in his own wing,\nLord Timon will be left a naked gull,\nWhich flashes now a phoenix. Get you gone.\nCAPHIS I go, sir.\nSenator 'I go, sir!'--Take the bonds along with you,\nAnd have the dates in contempt.\nCAPHIS I will, sir.\nSenator Go.\n[Exeunt]\nTIMON OF ATHENS\nACT II\nSCENE II The same. A hall in Timon's house.\n[Enter FLAVIUS, with many bills in his hand]\nFLAVIUS No care, no stop! so senseless of expense,\nThat he will neither know how to maintain it,\nNor cease his flow of riot: takes no account\nHow things go from him, nor resumes no care\nOf what is to continue: never mind\nWas to be so unwise, to be so kind.\nWhat shall be done? he will not hear, till feel:\nI must be round with him, now he comes from hunting.\nFie, fie, fie, fie!\n[Enter CAPHIS, and the Servants of Isidore and Varro]\nCAPHIS Good even, Varro: what,\nYou come for money?\nVarro's Servant Is't not your business too?\nCAPHIS It is: and yours too, Isidore?\nIsidore's Servant It is so.\nCAPHIS Would we were all discharged!\nVarro's Servant I fear it.\nCAPHIS Here comes the lord.\n[Enter TIMON, ALCIBIADES, and Lords, &c]\nTIMON So soon as dinner's done, we'll forth again,\nMy Alcibiades. With me? what is your will?\nCAPHIS My lord, here is a note of certain dues.\nTIMON Dues! Whence are you?\nCAPHIS Of Athens here, my lord.\nTIMON Go to my steward.\nCAPHIS Please it your lordship, he hath put me off\nTo the succession of new days this month:\nMy master is awaked by great occasion\nTo call upon his own, and humbly prays you\nThat with your other noble parts you'll suit\nIn giving him his right.\nTIMON Mine honest friend,\nI prithee, but repair to me next morning.\nCAPHIS Nay, good my lord,--\nTIMON Contain thyself, good friend.\nVarro's Servant One Varro's servant, my good lord,--\nIsidore's Servant From Isidore;\nHe humbly prays your speedy payment.\nCAPHIS If you did know, my lord, my master's wants--\nVarro's Servant 'Twas due on forfeiture, my lord, six weeks And past.\nIsidore's Servant Your steward puts me off, my lord;\nAnd I am sent expressly to your lordship.\nTIMON Give me breath.\nI do beseech you, good my lords, keep on;\nI'll wait upon you instantly.\n[Exeunt ALCIBIADES and Lords]\n[To FLAVIUS]\nCome hither: pray you,\nHow goes the world, that I am thus encounter'd\nWith clamourous demands of date-broke bonds,\nAnd the detention of long-since-due debts,\nAgainst my honour?\nFLAVIUS Please you, gentlemen,\nThe time is unagreeable to this business:\nYour importunacy cease till after dinner,\nThat I may make his lordship understand\nWherefore you are not paid.\nTIMON Do so, my friends. See them well entertain'd.\n[Exit]\nFLAVIUS Pray, draw near.\n[Exit]\n[Enter APEMANTUS and Fool]\nCAPHIS Stay, stay, here comes the fool with Apemantus:\nlet's ha' some sport with 'em.\nVarro's Servant Hang him, he'll abuse us.\nIsidore's Servant A plague upon him, dog!\nVarro's Servant How dost, fool?\nAPEMANTUS Dost dialogue with thy shadow?\nVarro's Servant I speak not to thee.\nAPEMANTUS No,'tis to thyself.\n[To the Fool]\nCome away.\nIsidore's Servant There's the fool hangs on your back already.\nAPEMANTUS No, thou stand'st single, thou'rt not on him yet.\nCAPHIS Where's the fool now?\nAPEMANTUS He last asked the question. Poor rogues, and\nusurers' men! bawds between gold and want!\nAll Servants What are we, Apemantus?\nAPEMANTUS Asses.\nAll Servants Why?\nAPEMANTUS That you ask me what you are, and do not know\nyourselves. Speak to 'em, fool.\nFool How do you, gentlemen?\nAll Servants Gramercies, good fool: how does your mistress?\nFool She's e'en setting on water to scald such chickens\nas you are. Would we could see you at Corinth!\nAPEMANTUS Good! gramercy.\n[Enter Page]\nFool Look you, here comes my mistress' page.\nPage [To the Fool] Why, how now, captain! what do you\nin this wise company? How dost thou, Apemantus?\nAPEMANTUS Would I had a rod in my mouth, that I might answer\nthee profitably.\nPage Prithee, Apemantus, read me the superscription of\nthese letters: I know not which is which.\nAPEMANTUS Canst not read?\nPage No.\nAPEMANTUS There will little learning die then, that day thou\nart hanged. This is to Lord Timon; this to\nAlcibiades. Go; thou wast born a bastard, and thou't\ndie a bawd.\nPage Thou wast whelped a dog, and thou shalt famish a\ndog's death. Answer not; I am gone.\n[Exit]\nAPEMANTUS E'en so thou outrunnest grace. Fool, I will go with\nyou to Lord Timon's.\nFool Will you leave me there?\nAPEMANTUS If Timon stay at home. You three serve three usurers?\nAll Servants Ay; would they served us!\nAPEMANTUS So would I,--as good a trick as ever hangman served thief.\nFool Are you three usurers' men?\nAll Servants Ay, fool.\nFool I think no usurer but has a fool to his servant: my\nmistress is one, and I am her fool. When men come\nto borrow of your masters, they approach sadly, and\ngo away merry; but they enter my mistress' house\nmerrily, and go away sadly: the reason of this?\nVarro's Servant I could render one.\nAPEMANTUS Do it then, that we may account thee a whoremaster\nand a knave; which not-withstanding, thou shalt be\nno less esteemed.\nVarro's Servant What is a whoremaster, fool?\nFool A fool in good clothes, and something like thee.\n'Tis a spirit: sometime't appears like a lord;\nsometime like a lawyer; sometime like a philosopher,\nwith two stones moe than's artificial one: he is\nvery often like a knight; and, generally, in all\nshapes that man goes up and down in from fourscore\nto thirteen, this spirit walks in.\nVarro's Servant Thou art not altogether a fool.\nFool Nor thou altogether a wise man: as much foolery as\nI have, so much wit thou lackest.\nAPEMANTUS That answer might have become Apemantus.\nAll Servants Aside, aside; here comes Lord Timon.\n[Re-enter TIMON and FLAVIUS]\nAPEMANTUS Come with me, fool, come.\nFool I do not always follow lover, elder brother and\nwoman; sometime the philosopher.\n[Exeunt APEMANTUS and Fool]\nFLAVIUS Pray you, walk near: I'll speak with you anon.\n[Exeunt Servants]\nTIMON You make me marvel: wherefore ere this time\nHad you not fully laid my state before me,\nThat I might so have rated my expense,\nAs I had leave of means?\nFLAVIUS You would not hear me,\nAt many leisures I proposed.\nTIMON Go to:\nPerchance some single vantages you took.\nWhen my indisposition put you back:\nAnd that unaptness made your minister,\nThus to excuse yourself.\nFLAVIUS O my good lord,\nAt many times I brought in my accounts,\nLaid them before you; you would throw them off,\nAnd say, you found them in mine honesty.\nWhen, for some trifling present, you have bid me\nReturn so much, I have shook my head and wept;\nYea, 'gainst the authority of manners, pray'd you\nTo hold your hand more close: I did endure\nNot seldom, nor no slight cheques, when I have\nPrompted you in the ebb of your estate\nAnd your great flow of debts. My loved lord,\nThough you hear now, too late--yet now's a time--\nThe greatest of your having lacks a half\nTo pay your present debts.\nTIMON Let all my land be sold.\nFLAVIUS 'Tis all engaged, some forfeited and gone;\nAnd what remains will hardly stop the mouth\nOf present dues: the future comes apace:\nWhat shall defend the interim? and at length\nHow goes our reckoning?\nTIMON To Lacedaemon did my land extend.\nFLAVIUS O my good lord, the world is but a word:\nWere it all yours to give it in a breath,\nHow quickly were it gone!\nTIMON You tell me true.\nFLAVIUS If you suspect my husbandry or falsehood,\nCall me before the exactest auditors\nAnd set me on the proof. So the gods bless me,\nWhen all our offices have been oppress'd\nWith riotous feeders, when our vaults have wept\nWith drunken spilth of wine, when every room\nHath blazed with lights and bray'd with minstrelsy,\nI have retired me to a wasteful cock,\nAnd set mine eyes at flow.\nTIMON Prithee, no more.\nFLAVIUS Heavens, have I said, the bounty of this lord!\nHow many prodigal bits have slaves and peasants\nThis night englutted! Who is not Timon's?\nWhat heart, head, sword, force, means, but is\nLord Timon's?\nGreat Timon, noble, worthy, royal Timon!\nAh, when the means are gone that buy this praise,\nThe breath is gone whereof this praise is made:\nFeast-won, fast-lost; one cloud of winter showers,\nThese flies are couch'd.\nTIMON Come, sermon me no further:\nNo villanous bounty yet hath pass'd my heart;\nUnwisely, not ignobly, have I given.\nWhy dost thou weep? Canst thou the conscience lack,\nTo think I shall lack friends? Secure thy heart;\nIf I would broach the vessels of my love,\nAnd try the argument of hearts by borrowing,\nMen and men's fortunes could I frankly use\nAs I can bid thee speak.\nFLAVIUS Assurance bless your thoughts!\nTIMON And, in some sort, these wants of mine are crown'd,\nThat I account them blessings; for by these\nShall I try friends: you shall perceive how you\nMistake my fortunes; I am wealthy in my friends.\nWithin there! Flaminius! Servilius!\n[Enter FLAMINIUS, SERVILIUS, and other Servants]\nServants My lord? my lord?\nTIMON I will dispatch you severally; you to Lord Lucius;\nto Lord Lucullus you: I hunted with his honour\nto-day: you, to Sempronius: commend me to their\nloves, and, I am proud, say, that my occasions have\nfound time to use 'em toward a supply of money: let\nthe request be fifty talents.\nFLAMINIUS As you have said, my lord.\nFLAVIUS [Aside] Lord Lucius and Lucullus? hum!\nTIMON Go you, sir, to the senators--\nOf whom, even to the state's best health, I have\nDeserved this hearing--bid 'em send o' the instant\nA thousand talents to me.\nFLAVIUS I have been bold--\nFor that I knew it the most general way--\nTo them to use your signet and your name;\nBut they do shake their heads, and I am here\nNo richer in return.\nTIMON Is't true? can't be?\nFLAVIUS They answer, in a joint and corporate voice,\nThat now they are at fall, want treasure, cannot\nDo what they would; are sorry--you are honourable,--\nBut yet they could have wish'd--they know not--\nSomething hath been amiss--a noble nature\nMay catch a wrench--would all were well--'tis pity;--\nAnd so, intending other serious matters,\nAfter distasteful looks and these hard fractions,\nWith certain half-caps and cold-moving nods\nThey froze me into silence.\nTIMON You gods, reward them!\nPrithee, man, look cheerly. These old fellows\nHave their ingratitude in them hereditary:\nTheir blood is caked, 'tis cold, it seldom flows;\n'Tis lack of kindly warmth they are not kind;\nAnd nature, as it grows again toward earth,\nIs fashion'd for the journey, dull and heavy.\n[To a Servant]\nGo to Ventidius.\n[To FLAVIUS]\nPrithee, be not sad,\nThou art true and honest; ingeniously I speak.\nNo blame belongs to thee.\n[To Servant]\nVentidius lately\nBuried his father; by whose death he's stepp'd\nInto a great estate: when he was poor,\nImprison'd and in scarcity of friends,\nI clear'd him with five talents: greet him from me;\nBid him suppose some good necessity\nTouches his friend, which craves to be remember'd\nWith those five talents.\n[Exit Servant]\n[To FLAVIUS]\nThat had, give't these fellows\nTo whom 'tis instant due. Ne'er speak, or think,\nThat Timon's fortunes 'mong his friends can sink.\nFLAVIUS I would I could not think it: that thought is\nbounty's foe;\nBeing free itself, it thinks all others so.\n[Exeunt]\nTIMON OF ATHENS\nACT III\nSCENE I A room in Lucullus' house.\n[FLAMINIUS waiting. Enter a Servant to him]\nServant I have told my lord of you; he is coming down to you.\nFLAMINIUS I thank you, sir.\n[Enter LUCULLUS]\nServant Here's my lord.\nLUCULLUS [Aside] One of Lord Timon's men? a gift, I\nwarrant. Why, this hits right; I dreamt of a silver\nbasin and ewer to-night. Flaminius, honest\nFlaminius; you are very respectively welcome, sir.\nFill me some wine.\n[Exit Servants]\nAnd how does that honourable, complete, free-hearted\ngentleman of Athens, thy very bountiful good lord\nand master?\nFLAMINIUS His health is well sir.\nLUCULLUS I am right glad that his health is well, sir: and\nwhat hast thou there under thy cloak, pretty Flaminius?\nFLAMINIUS 'Faith, nothing but an empty box, sir; which, in my\nlord's behalf, I come to entreat your honour to\nsupply; who, having great and instant occasion to\nuse fifty talents, hath sent to your lordship to\nfurnish him, nothing doubting your present\nassistance therein.\nLUCULLUS La, la, la, la! 'nothing doubting,' says he? Alas,\ngood lord! a noble gentleman 'tis, if he would not\nkeep so good a house. Many a time and often I ha'\ndined with him, and told him on't, and come again to\nsupper to him, of purpose to have him spend less,\nand yet he would embrace no counsel, take no warning\nby my coming. Every man has his fault, and honesty\nis his: I ha' told him on't, but I could ne'er get\nhim from't.\n[Re-enter Servant, with wine]\nServant Please your lordship, here is the wine.\nLUCULLUS Flaminius, I have noted thee always wise. Here's to thee.\nFLAMINIUS Your lordship speaks your pleasure.\nLUCULLUS I have observed thee always for a towardly prompt\nspirit--give thee thy due--and one that knows what\nbelongs to reason; and canst use the time well, if\nthe time use thee well: good parts in thee.\n[To Servant]\nGet you gone, sirrah.\n[Exit Servant]\nDraw nearer, honest Flaminius. Thy lord's a\nbountiful gentleman: but thou art wise; and thou\nknowest well enough, although thou comest to me,\nthat this is no time to lend money, especially upon\nbare friendship, without security. Here's three\nsolidares for thee: good boy, wink at me, and say\nthou sawest me not. Fare thee well.\nFLAMINIUS Is't possible the world should so much differ,\nAnd we alive that lived? Fly, damned baseness,\nTo him that worships thee!\n[Throwing the money back]\nLUCULLUS Ha! now I see thou art a fool, and fit for thy master.\n[Exit]\nFLAMINIUS May these add to the number that may scald thee!\nLet moulten coin be thy damnation,\nThou disease of a friend, and not himself!\nHas friendship such a faint and milky heart,\nIt turns in less than two nights? O you gods,\nI feel master's passion! this slave,\nUnto his honour, has my lord's meat in him:\nWhy should it thrive and turn to nutriment,\nWhen he is turn'd to poison?\nO, may diseases only work upon't!\nAnd, when he's sick to death, let not that part of nature\nWhich my lord paid for, be of any power\nTo expel sickness, but prolong his hour!\n[Exit]\nTIMON OF ATHENS\nACT III\nSCENE II A public place.\n[Enter LUCILIUS, with three Strangers]\nLUCILIUS Who, the Lord Timon? he is my very good friend, and\nan honourable gentleman.\nFirst Stranger We know him for no less, though we are but strangers\nto him. But I can tell you one thing, my lord, and\nwhich I hear from common rumours: now Lord Timon's\nhappy hours are done and past, and his estate\nshrinks from him.\nLUCILIUS Fie, no, do not believe it; he cannot want for money.\nSecond Stranger But believe you this, my lord, that, not long ago,\none of his men was with the Lord Lucullus to borrow\nso many talents, nay, urged extremely for't and\nshowed what necessity belonged to't, and yet was denied.\nLUCILIUS How!\nSecond Stranger I tell you, denied, my lord.\nLUCILIUS What a strange case was that! now, before the gods,\nI am ashamed on't. Denied that honourable man!\nthere was very little honour showed in't. For my own\npart, I must needs confess, I have received some\nsmall kindnesses from him, as money, plate, jewels\nand such-like trifles, nothing comparing to his;\nyet, had he mistook him and sent to me, I should\nne'er have denied his occasion so many talents.\n[Enter SERVILIUS]\nSERVILIUS See, by good hap, yonder's my lord;\nI have sweat to see his honour. My honoured lord,--\n[To LUCIUS]\nLUCILIUS Servilius! you are kindly met, sir. Fare thee well:\ncommend me to thy honourable virtuous lord, my very\nexquisite friend.\nSERVILIUS May it please your honour, my lord hath sent--\nLUCILIUS Ha! what has he sent? I am so much endeared to\nthat lord; he's ever sending: how shall I thank\nhim, thinkest thou? And what has he sent now?\nSERVILIUS Has only sent his present occasion now, my lord;\nrequesting your lordship to supply his instant use\nwith so many talents.\nLUCILIUS I know his lordship is but merry with me;\nHe cannot want fifty five hundred talents.\nSERVILIUS But in the mean time he wants less, my lord.\nIf his occasion were not virtuous,\nI should not urge it half so faithfully.\nLUCILIUS Dost thou speak seriously, Servilius?\nSERVILIUS Upon my soul,'tis true, sir.\nLUCILIUS What a wicked beast was I to disfurnish myself\nagainst such a good time, when I might ha' shown\nmyself honourable! how unluckily it happened, that I\nshould purchase the day before for a little part,\nand undo a great deal of honoured! Servilius, now,\nbefore the gods, I am not able to do,--the more\nbeast, I say:--I was sending to use Lord Timon\nmyself, these gentlemen can witness! but I would\nnot, for the wealth of Athens, I had done't now.\nCommend me bountifully to his good lordship; and I\nhope his honour will conceive the fairest of me,\nbecause I have no power to be kind: and tell him\nthis from me, I count it one of my greatest\nafflictions, say, that I cannot pleasure such an\nhonourable gentleman. Good Servilius, will you\nbefriend me so far, as to use mine own words to him?\nSERVILIUS Yes, sir, I shall.\nLUCILIUS I'll look you out a good turn, Servilius.\n[Exit SERVILIUS]\nTrue as you said, Timon is shrunk indeed;\nAnd he that's once denied will hardly speed.\n[Exit]\nFirst Stranger Do you observe this, Hostilius?\nSecond Stranger Ay, too well.\nFirst Stranger Why, this is the world's soul; and just of the\nsame piece\nIs every flatterer's spirit. Who can call him\nHis friend that dips in the same dish? for, in\nMy knowing, Timon has been this lord's father,\nAnd kept his credit with his purse,\nSupported his estate; nay, Timon's money\nHas paid his men their wages: he ne'er drinks,\nBut Timon's silver treads upon his lip;\nAnd yet--O, see the monstrousness of man\nWhen he looks out in an ungrateful shape!--\nHe does deny him, in respect of his,\nWhat charitable men afford to beggars.\nThird Stranger Religion groans at it.\nFirst Stranger For mine own part,\nI never tasted Timon in my life,\nNor came any of his bounties over me,\nTo mark me for his friend; yet, I protest,\nFor his right noble mind, illustrious virtue\nAnd honourable carriage,\nHad his necessity made use of me,\nI would have put my wealth into donation,\nAnd the best half should have return'd to him,\nSo much I love his heart: but, I perceive,\nMen must learn now with pity to dispense;\nFor policy sits above conscience.\n[Exeunt]\nTIMON OF ATHENS\nACT III\nSCENE III A room in Sempronius' house.\n[Enter SEMPRONIUS, and a Servant of TIMON's]\nSEMPRONIUS Must he needs trouble me in 't,--hum!--'bove\nall others?\nHe might have tried Lord Lucius or Lucullus;\nAnd now Ventidius is wealthy too,\nWhom he redeem'd from prison: all these\nOwe their estates unto him.\nServant My lord,\nThey have all been touch'd and found base metal, for\nThey have au denied him.\nSEMPRONIUS How! have they denied him?\nHas Ventidius and Lucullus denied him?\nAnd does he send to me? Three? hum!\nIt shows but little love or judgment in him:\nMust I be his last refuge! His friends, like\nphysicians,\nThrive, give him over: must I take the cure upon me?\nHas much disgraced me in't; I'm angry at him,\nThat might have known my place: I see no sense for't,\nBut his occasion might have woo'd me first;\nFor, in my conscience, I was the first man\nThat e'er received gift from him:\nAnd does he think so backwardly of me now,\nThat I'll requite its last? No:\nSo it may prove an argument of laughter\nTo the rest, and 'mongst lords I be thought a fool.\nI'ld rather than the worth of thrice the sum,\nHad sent to me first, but for my mind's sake;\nI'd such a courage to do him good. But now return,\nAnd with their faint reply this answer join;\nWho bates mine honour shall not know my coin.\n[Exit]\nServant Excellent! Your lordship's a goodly villain. The\ndevil knew not what he did when he made man\npolitic; he crossed himself by 't: and I cannot\nthink but, in the end, the villainies of man will\nset him clear. How fairly this lord strives to\nappear foul! takes virtuous copies to be wicked,\nlike those that under hot ardent zeal would set\nwhole realms on fire: Of such a nature is his\npolitic love.\nThis was my lord's best hope; now all are fled,\nSave only the gods: now his friends are dead,\nDoors, that were ne'er acquainted with their wards\nMany a bounteous year must be employ'd\nNow to guard sure their master.\nAnd this is all a liberal course allows;\nWho cannot keep his wealth must keep his house.\n[Exit]\nTIMON OF ATHENS\nACT III\nSCENE IV The same. A hall in Timon's house.\n[Enter two Servants of Varro, and the Servant of\nLUCIUS, meeting TITUS, HORTENSIUS, and other\nServants of TIMON's creditors, waiting his coming out]\nVarro's\nFirst Servant Well met; good morrow, Titus and Hortensius.\nTITUS The like to you kind Varro.\nHORTENSIUS Lucius!\nWhat, do we meet together?\nLucilius' Servant Ay, and I think\nOne business does command us all; for mine Is money.\nTITUS So is theirs and ours.\n[Enter PHILOTUS]\nLucilius' Servant And Sir Philotus too!\nPHILOTUS Good day at once.\nLucilius' Servant Welcome, good brother.\nWhat do you think the hour?\nPHILOTUS Labouring for nine.\nLucilius' Servant So much?\nPHILOTUS Is not my lord seen yet?\nLucilius' Servant Not yet.\nPHILOTUS I wonder on't; he was wont to shine at seven.\nLucilius' Servant Ay, but the days are wax'd shorter with him:\nYou must consider that a prodigal course\nIs like the sun's; but not, like his, recoverable.\nI fear 'tis deepest winter in Lord Timon's purse;\nThat is one may reach deep enough, and yet\nFind little.\nPHILOTUS I am of your fear for that.\nTITUS I'll show you how to observe a strange event.\nYour lord sends now for money.\nHORTENSIUS Most true, he does.\nTITUS And he wears jewels now of Timon's gift,\nFor which I wait for money.\nHORTENSIUS It is against my heart.\nLucilius' Servant Mark, how strange it shows,\nTimon in this should pay more than he owes:\nAnd e'en as if your lord should wear rich jewels,\nAnd send for money for 'em.\nHORTENSIUS I'm weary of this charge, the gods can witness:\nI know my lord hath spent of Timon's wealth,\nAnd now ingratitude makes it worse than stealth.\nVarro's\nFirst Servant Yes, mine's three thousand crowns: what's yours?\nLucilius' Servant Five thousand mine.\nVarro's\nFirst Servant 'Tis much deep: and it should seem by the sun,\nYour master's confidence was above mine;\nElse, surely, his had equall'd.\nEnter FLAMINIUS.\nTITUS One of Lord Timon's men.\nLucilius' Servant Flaminius! Sir, a word: pray, is my lord ready to\ncome forth?\nFLAMINIUS No, indeed, he is not.\nTITUS We attend his lordship; pray, signify so much.\nFLAMINIUS I need not tell him that; he knows you are too diligent.\n[Exit]\n[Enter FLAVIUS in a cloak, muffled]\nLucilius' Servant Ha! is not that his steward muffled so?\nHe goes away in a cloud: call him, call him.\nTITUS Do you hear, sir?\nVarro's\nSecond Servant By your leave, sir,--\nFLAVIUS What do ye ask of me, my friend?\nTITUS We wait for certain money here, sir.\nFLAVIUS Ay,\nIf money were as certain as your waiting,\n'Twere sure enough.\nWhy then preferr'd you not your sums and bills,\nWhen your false masters eat of my lord's meat?\nThen they could smile and fawn upon his debts\nAnd take down the interest into their\ngluttonous maws.\nYou do yourselves but wrong to stir me up;\nLet me pass quietly:\nBelieve 't, my lord and I have made an end;\nI have no more to reckon, he to spend.\nLucilius' Servant Ay, but this answer will not serve.\nFLAVIUS If 'twill not serve,'tis not so base as you;\nFor you serve knaves.\n[Exit]\nVarro's\nFirst Servant How! what does his cashiered worship mutter?\nVarro's\nSecond Servant No matter what; he's poor, and that's revenge\nenough. Who can speak broader than he that has no\nhouse to put his head in? such may rail against\ngreat buildings.\n[Enter SERVILIUS]\nTITUS O, here's Servilius; now we shall know some answer.\nSERVILIUS If I might beseech you, gentlemen, to repair some\nother hour, I should derive much from't; for,\ntake't of my soul, my lord leans wondrously to\ndiscontent: his comfortable temper has forsook him;\nhe's much out of health, and keeps his chamber.\nLucilius' Servant: Many do keep their chambers are not sick:\nAnd, if it be so far beyond his health,\nMethinks he should the sooner pay his debts,\nAnd make a clear way to the gods.\nSERVILIUS Good gods!\nTITUS We cannot take this for answer, sir.\nFLAMINIUS [Within] Servilius, help! My lord! my lord!\n[Enter TIMON, in a rage, FLAMINIUS following]\nTIMON What, are my doors opposed against my passage?\nHave I been ever free, and must my house\nBe my retentive enemy, my gaol?\nThe place which I have feasted, does it now,\nLike all mankind, show me an iron heart?\nLucilius' Servant Put in now, Titus.\nTITUS My lord, here is my bill.\nLucilius' Servant Here's mine.\nHORTENSIUS And mine, my lord.\nBoth\nVarro's Servants And ours, my lord.\nPHILOTUS All our bills.\nTIMON Knock me down with 'em: cleave me to the girdle.\nLucilius' Servant Alas, my lord,-\nTIMON Cut my heart in sums.\nTITUS Mine, fifty talents.\nTIMON Tell out my blood.\nLucilius' Servant Five thousand crowns, my lord.\nTIMON Five thousand drops pays that.\nWhat yours?--and yours?\nVarro's\nFirst Servant My lord,--\nVarro's\nSecond Servant My lord,--\nTIMON Tear me, take me, and the gods fall upon you!\n[Exit]\nHORTENSIUS 'Faith, I perceive our masters may throw their caps\nat their money: these debts may well be called\ndesperate ones, for a madman owes 'em.\n[Exeunt]\n[Re-enter TIMON and FLAVIUS]\nTIMON They have e'en put my breath from me, the slaves.\nCreditors? devils!\nFLAVIUS My dear lord,--\nTIMON What if it should be so?\nFLAVIUS My lord,--\nTIMON I'll have it so. My steward!\nFLAVIUS Here, my lord.\nTIMON So fitly? Go, bid all my friends again,\nLucius, Lucullus, and Sempronius:\nAll, sirrah, all:\nI'll once more feast the rascals.\nFLAVIUS O my lord,\nYou only speak from your distracted soul;\nThere is not so much left, to furnish out\nA moderate table.\nTIMON Be't not in thy care; go,\nI charge thee, invite them all: let in the tide\nOf knaves once more; my cook and I'll provide.\n[Exeunt]\nTIMON OF ATHENS\nACT III\nSCENE V The same. The senate-house. The Senate sitting.\nFirst Senator My lord, you have my voice to it; the fault's\nBloody; 'tis necessary he should die:\nNothing emboldens sin so much as mercy.\nSecond Senator Most true; the law shall bruise him.\n[Enter ALCIBIADES, with Attendants]\nALCIBIADES Honour, health, and compassion to the senate!\nFirst Senator Now, captain?\nALCIBIADES I am an humble suitor to your virtues;\nFor pity is the virtue of the law,\nAnd none but tyrants use it cruelly.\nIt pleases time and fortune to lie heavy\nUpon a friend of mine, who, in hot blood,\nHath stepp'd into the law, which is past depth\nTo those that, without heed, do plunge into 't.\nHe is a man, setting his fate aside,\nOf comely virtues:\nNor did he soil the fact with cowardice--\nAn honour in him which buys out his fault--\nBut with a noble fury and fair spirit,\nSeeing his reputation touch'd to death,\nHe did oppose his foe:\nAnd with such sober and unnoted passion\nHe did behave his anger, ere 'twas spent,\nAs if he had but proved an argument.\nFirst Senator You undergo too strict a paradox,\nStriving to make an ugly deed look fair:\nYour words have took such pains as if they labour'd\nTo bring manslaughter into form and set quarrelling\nUpon the head of valour; which indeed\nIs valour misbegot and came into the world\nWhen sects and factions were newly born:\nHe's truly valiant that can wisely suffer\nThe worst that man can breathe, and make his wrongs\nHis outsides, to wear them like his raiment,\ncarelessly,\nAnd ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart,\nTo bring it into danger.\nIf wrongs be evils and enforce us kill,\nWhat folly 'tis to hazard life for ill!\nALCIBIADES My lord,--\nFirst Senator You cannot make gross sins look clear:\nTo revenge is no valour, but to bear.\nALCIBIADES My lords, then, under favour, pardon me,\nIf I speak like a captain.\nWhy do fond men expose themselves to battle,\nAnd not endure all threats? sleep upon't,\nAnd let the foes quietly cut their throats,\nWithout repugnancy? If there be\nSuch valour in the bearing, what make we\nAbroad? why then, women are more valiant\nThat stay at home, if bearing carry it,\nAnd the ass more captain than the lion, the felon\nLoaden with irons wiser than the judge,\nIf wisdom be in suffering. O my lords,\nAs you are great, be pitifully good:\nWho cannot condemn rashness in cold blood?\nTo kill, I grant, is sin's extremest gust;\nBut, in defence, by mercy, 'tis most just.\nTo be in anger is impiety;\nBut who is man that is not angry?\nWeigh but the crime with this.\nSecond Senator You breathe in vain.\nALCIBIADES In vain! his service done\nAt Lacedaemon and Byzantium\nWere a sufficient briber for his life.\nFirst Senator What's that?\nALCIBIADES I say, my lords, he has done fair service,\nAnd slain in fight many of your enemies:\nHow full of valour did he bear himself\nIn the last conflict, and made plenteous wounds!\nSecond Senator He has made too much plenty with 'em;\nHe's a sworn rioter: he has a sin that often\nDrowns him, and takes his valour prisoner:\nIf there were no foes, that were enough\nTo overcome him: in that beastly fury\nHe has been known to commit outrages,\nAnd cherish factions: 'tis inferr'd to us,\nHis days are foul and his drink dangerous.\nFirst Senator He dies.\nALCIBIADES Hard fate! he might have died in war.\nMy lords, if not for any parts in him--\nThough his right arm might purchase his own time\nAnd be in debt to none--yet, more to move you,\nTake my deserts to his, and join 'em both:\nAnd, for I know your reverend ages love\nSecurity, I'll pawn my victories, all\nMy honours to you, upon his good returns.\nIf by this crime he owes the law his life,\nWhy, let the war receive 't in valiant gore\nFor law is strict, and war is nothing more.\nFirst Senator We are for law: he dies; urge it no more,\nOn height of our displeasure: friend or brother,\nHe forfeits his own blood that spills another.\nALCIBIADES Must it be so? it must not be. My lords,\nI do beseech you, know me.\nSecond Senator How!\nALCIBIADES Call me to your remembrances.\nThird Senator What!\nALCIBIADES I cannot think but your age has forgot me;\nIt could not else be, I should prove so base,\nTo sue, and be denied such common grace:\nMy wounds ache at you.\nFirst Senator Do you dare our anger?\n'Tis in few words, but spacious in effect;\nWe banish thee for ever.\nALCIBIADES Banish me!\nBanish your dotage; banish usury,\nThat makes the senate ugly.\nFirst Senator If, after two days' shine, Athens contain thee,\nAttend our weightier judgment. And, not to swell\nour spirit,\nHe shall be executed presently.\n[Exeunt Senators]\nALCIBIADES Now the gods keep you old enough; that you may live\nOnly in bone, that none may look on you!\nI'm worse than mad: I have kept back their foes,\nWhile they have told their money and let out\nTheir coin upon large interest, I myself\nRich only in large hurts. All those for this?\nIs this the balsam that the usuring senate\nPours into captains' wounds? Banishment!\nIt comes not ill; I hate not to be banish'd;\nIt is a cause worthy my spleen and fury,\nThat I may strike at Athens. I'll cheer up\nMy discontented troops, and lay for hearts.\n'Tis honour with most lands to be at odds;\nSoldiers should brook as little wrongs as gods.\n[Exit]\nTIMON OF ATHENS\nACT III\nSCENE VI The same. A banqueting-room in Timon's house.\n[Music. Tables set out: Servants attending.\nEnter divers Lords, Senators and others, at\nseveral doors]\nFirst Lord The good time of day to you, sir.\nSecond Lord I also wish it to you. I think this honourable lord\ndid but try us this other day.\nFirst Lord Upon that were my thoughts tiring, when we\nencountered: I hope it is not so low with him as\nhe made it seem in the trial of his several friends.\nSecond Lord It should not be, by the persuasion of his new feasting.\nFirst Lord I should think so: he hath sent me an earnest\ninviting, which many my near occasions did urge me\nto put off; but he hath conjured me beyond them, and\nI must needs appear.\nSecond Lord In like manner was I in debt to my importunate\nbusiness, but he would not hear my excuse. I am\nsorry, when he sent to borrow of me, that my\nprovision was out.\nFirst Lord I am sick of that grief too, as I understand how all\nthings go.\nSecond Lord Every man here's so. What would he have borrowed of\nyou?\nFirst Lord A thousand pieces.\nSecond Lord A thousand pieces!\nFirst Lord What of you?\nSecond Lord He sent to me, sir,--Here he comes.\n[Enter TIMON and Attendants]\nTIMON With all my heart, gentlemen both; and how fare you?\nFirst Lord Ever at the best, hearing well of your lordship.\nSecond Lord The swallow follows not summer more willing than we\nyour lordship.\nTIMON [Aside] Nor more willingly leaves winter; such\nsummer-birds are men. Gentlemen, our dinner will not\nrecompense this long stay: feast your ears with the\nmusic awhile, if they will fare so harshly o' the\ntrumpet's sound; we shall to 't presently.\nFirst Lord I hope it remains not unkindly with your lordship\nthat I returned you an empty messenger.\nTIMON O, sir, let it not trouble you.\nSecond Lord My noble lord,--\nTIMON Ah, my good friend, what cheer?\nSecond Lord My most honourable lord, I am e'en sick of shame,\nthat, when your lordship this other day sent to me,\nI was so unfortunate a beggar.\nTIMON Think not on 't, sir.\nSecond Lord If you had sent but two hours before,--\nTIMON Let it not cumber your better remembrance.\n[The banquet brought in]\nCome, bring in all together.\nSecond Lord All covered dishes!\nFirst Lord Royal cheer, I warrant you.\nThird Lord Doubt not that, if money and the season can yield\nit.\nFirst Lord How do you? What's the news?\nThird Lord Alcibiades is banished: hear you of it?\nFirst Lord |\n| Alcibiades banished!\nSecond Lord |\nThird Lord 'Tis so, be sure of it.\nFirst Lord How! how!\nSecond Lord I pray you, upon what?\nTIMON My worthy friends, will you draw near?\nThird Lord I'll tell you more anon. Here's a noble feast toward.\nSecond Lord This is the old man still.\nThird Lord Will 't hold? will 't hold?\nSecond Lord It does: but time will--and so--\nThird Lord I do conceive.\nTIMON Each man to his stool, with that spur as he would to\nthe lip of his mistress: your diet shall be in all\nplaces alike. Make not a city feast of it, to let\nthe meat cool ere we can agree upon the first place:\nsit, sit. The gods require our thanks.\nYou great benefactors, sprinkle our society with\nthankfulness. For your own gifts, make yourselves\npraised: but reserve still to give, lest your\ndeities be despised. Lend to each man enough, that\none need not lend to another; for, were your\ngodheads to borrow of men, men would forsake the\ngods. Make the meat be beloved more than the man\nthat gives it. Let no assembly of twenty be without\na score of villains: if there sit twelve women at\nthe table, let a dozen of them be--as they are. The\nrest of your fees, O gods--the senators of Athens,\ntogether with the common lag of people--what is\namiss in them, you gods, make suitable for\ndestruction. For these my present friends, as they\nare to me nothing, so in nothing bless them, and to\nnothing are they welcome.\nUncover, dogs, and lap.\n[The dishes are uncovered and seen to be full of\nwarm water]\nSome Speak What does his lordship mean?\nSome Others I know not.\nTIMON May you a better feast never behold,\nYou knot of mouth-friends I smoke and lukewarm water\nIs your perfection. This is Timon's last;\nWho, stuck and spangled with your flatteries,\nWashes it off, and sprinkles in your faces\nYour reeking villany.\n[Throwing the water in their faces]\nLive loathed and long,\nMost smiling, smooth, detested parasites,\nCourteous destroyers, affable wolves, meek bears,\nYou fools of fortune, trencher-friends, time's flies,\nCap and knee slaves, vapours, and minute-jacks!\nOf man and beast the infinite malady\nCrust you quite o'er! What, dost thou go?\nSoft! take thy physic first--thou too--and thou;--\nStay, I will lend thee money, borrow none.\n[Throws the dishes at them, and drives them out]\nWhat, all in motion? Henceforth be no feast,\nWhereat a villain's not a welcome guest.\nBurn, house! sink, Athens! henceforth hated be\nOf Timon man and all humanity!\n[Exit]\n[Re-enter the Lords, Senators, &c]\nFirst Lord How now, my lords!\nSecond Lord Know you the quality of Lord Timon's fury?\nThird Lord Push! did you see my cap?\nFourth Lord I have lost my gown.\nFirst Lord He's but a mad lord, and nought but humour sways him.\nHe gave me a jewel th' other day, and now he has\nbeat it out of my hat: did you see my jewel?\nThird Lord Did you see my cap?\nSecond Lord Here 'tis.\nFourth Lord Here lies my gown.\nFirst Lord Let's make no stay.\nSecond Lord Lord Timon's mad.\nThird Lord I feel 't upon my bones.\nFourth Lord One day he gives us diamonds, next day stones.\n[Exeunt]\nTIMON OF ATHENS\nACT IV\nSCENE I Without the walls of Athens.\n[Enter TIMON]\nTIMON Let me look back upon thee. O thou wall,\nThat girdlest in those wolves, dive in the earth,\nAnd fence not Athens! Matrons, turn incontinent!\nObedience fail in children! slaves and fools,\nPluck the grave wrinkled senate from the bench,\nAnd minister in their steads! to general filths\nConvert o' the instant, green virginity,\nDo 't in your parents' eyes! bankrupts, hold fast;\nRather than render back, out with your knives,\nAnd cut your trusters' throats! bound servants, steal!\nLarge-handed robbers your grave masters are,\nAnd pill by law. Maid, to thy master's bed;\nThy mistress is o' the brothel! Son of sixteen,\npluck the lined crutch from thy old limping sire,\nWith it beat out his brains! Piety, and fear,\nReligion to the gods, peace, justice, truth,\nDomestic awe, night-rest, and neighbourhood,\nInstruction, manners, mysteries, and trades,\nDegrees, observances, customs, and laws,\nDecline to your confounding contraries,\nAnd let confusion live! Plagues, incident to men,\nYour potent and infectious fevers heap\nOn Athens, ripe for stroke! Thou cold sciatica,\nCripple our senators, that their limbs may halt\nAs lamely as their manners. Lust and liberty\nCreep in the minds and marrows of our youth,\nThat 'gainst the stream of virtue they may strive,\nAnd drown themselves in riot! Itches, blains,\nSow all the Athenian bosoms; and their crop\nBe general leprosy! Breath infect breath,\nat their society, as their friendship, may\nmerely poison! Nothing I'll bear from thee,\nBut nakedness, thou detestable town!\nTake thou that too, with multiplying bans!\nTimon will to the woods; where he shall find\nThe unkindest beast more kinder than mankind.\nThe gods confound--hear me, you good gods all--\nThe Athenians both within and out that wall!\nAnd grant, as Timon grows, his hate may grow\nTo the whole race of mankind, high and low! Amen.\n[Exit]\nTIMON OF ATHENS\nACT IV\nSCENE II Athens. A room in Timon's house.\n[Enter FLAVIUS, with two or three Servants]\nFirst Servant Hear you, master steward, where's our master?\nAre we undone? cast off? nothing remaining?\nFLAVIUS Alack, my fellows, what should I say to you?\nLet me be recorded by the righteous gods,\nI am as poor as you.\nFirst Servant Such a house broke!\nSo noble a master fall'n! All gone! and not\nOne friend to take his fortune by the arm,\nAnd go along with him!\nSecond Servant As we do turn our backs\nFrom our companion thrown into his grave,\nSo his familiars to his buried fortunes\nSlink all away, leave their false vows with him,\nLike empty purses pick'd; and his poor self,\nA dedicated beggar to the air,\nWith his disease of all-shunn'd poverty,\nWalks, like contempt, alone. More of our fellows.\n[Enter other Servants]\nFLAVIUS All broken implements of a ruin'd house.\nThird Servant Yet do our hearts wear Timon's livery;\nThat see I by our faces; we are fellows still,\nServing alike in sorrow: leak'd is our bark,\nAnd we, poor mates, stand on the dying deck,\nHearing the surges threat: we must all part\nInto this sea of air.\nFLAVIUS Good fellows all,\nThe latest of my wealth I'll share amongst you.\nWherever we shall meet, for Timon's sake,\nLet's yet be fellows; let's shake our heads, and say,\nAs 'twere a knell unto our master's fortunes,\n'We have seen better days.' Let each take some;\nNay, put out all your hands. Not one word more:\nThus part we rich in sorrow, parting poor.\n[Servants embrace, and part several ways]\nO, the fierce wretchedness that glory brings us!\nWho would not wish to be from wealth exempt,\nSince riches point to misery and contempt?\nWho would be so mock'd with glory? or to live\nBut in a dream of friendship?\nTo have his pomp and all what state compounds\nBut only painted, like his varnish'd friends?\nPoor honest lord, brought low by his own heart,\nUndone by goodness! Strange, unusual blood,\nWhen man's worst sin is, he does too much good!\nWho, then, dares to be half so kind again?\nFor bounty, that makes gods, does still mar men.\nMy dearest lord, bless'd, to be most accursed,\nRich, only to be wretched, thy great fortunes\nAre made thy chief afflictions. Alas, kind lord!\nHe's flung in rage from this ingrateful seat\nOf monstrous friends, nor has he with him to\nSupply his life, or that which can command it.\nI'll follow and inquire him out:\nI'll ever serve his mind with my best will;\nWhilst I have gold, I'll be his steward still.\n[Exit]\nTIMON OF ATHENS\nACT IV\nSCENE III Woods and cave, near the seashore.\n[Enter TIMON, from the cave]\nO blessed breeding sun, draw from the earth\nRotten humidity; below thy sister's orb\nInfect the air! Twinn'd brothers of one womb,\nWhose procreation, residence, and birth,\nScarce is dividant, touch them with several fortunes;\nThe greater scorns the lesser: not nature,\nTo whom all sores lay siege, can bear great fortune,\nBut by contempt of nature.\nRaise me this beggar, and deny 't that lord;\nThe senator shall bear contempt hereditary,\nThe beggar native honour.\nIt is the pasture lards the rother's sides,\nThe want that makes him lean. Who dares, who dares,\nIn purity of manhood stand upright,\nAnd say 'This man's a flatterer?' if one be,\nSo are they all; for every grise of fortune\nIs smooth'd by that below: the learned pate\nDucks to the golden fool: all is oblique;\nThere's nothing level in our cursed natures,\nBut direct villany. Therefore, be abhorr'd\nAll feasts, societies, and throngs of men!\nHis semblable, yea, himself, Timon disdains:\nDestruction fang mankind! Earth, yield me roots!\n[Digging]\nWho seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate\nWith thy most operant poison! What is here?\nGold? yellow, glittering, precious gold? No, gods,\nI am no idle votarist: roots, you clear heavens!\nThus much of this will make black white, foul fair,\nWrong right, base noble, old young, coward valiant.\nHa, you gods! why this? what this, you gods? Why, this\nWill lug your priests and servants from your sides,\nPluck stout men's pillows from below their heads:\nThis yellow slave\nWill knit and break religions, bless the accursed,\nMake the hoar leprosy adored, place thieves\nAnd give them title, knee and approbation\nWith senators on the bench: this is it\nThat makes the wappen'd widow wed again;\nShe, whom the spital-house and ulcerous sores\nWould cast the gorge at, this embalms and spices\nTo the April day again. Come, damned earth,\nThou common whore of mankind, that put'st odds\nAmong the route of nations, I will make thee\nDo thy right nature.\n[March afar off]\nHa! a drum? Thou'rt quick,\nBut yet I'll bury thee: thou'lt go, strong thief,\nWhen gouty keepers of thee cannot stand.\nNay, stay thou out for earnest.\n[Keeping some gold]\n[Enter ALCIBIADES, with drum and fife, in\nwarlike manner; PHRYNIA and TIMANDRA]\nALCIBIADES What art thou there? speak.\nTIMON A beast, as thou art. The canker gnaw thy heart,\nFor showing me again the eyes of man!\nALCIBIADES What is thy name? Is man so hateful to thee,\nThat art thyself a man?\nTIMON I am Misanthropos, and hate mankind.\nFor thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog,\nThat I might love thee something.\nALCIBIADES I know thee well;\nBut in thy fortunes am unlearn'd and strange.\nTIMON I know thee too; and more than that I know thee,\nI not desire to know. Follow thy drum;\nWith man's blood paint the ground, gules, gules:\nReligious canons, civil laws are cruel;\nThen what should war be? This fell whore of thine\nHath in her more destruction than thy sword,\nFor all her cherubim look.\nPHRYNIA Thy lips rot off!\nTIMON I will not kiss thee; then the rot returns\nTo thine own lips again.\nALCIBIADES How came the noble Timon to this change?\nTIMON As the moon does, by wanting light to give:\nBut then renew I could not, like the moon;\nThere were no suns to borrow of.\nALCIBIADES Noble Timon,\nWhat friendship may I do thee?\nTIMON None, but to\nMaintain my opinion.\nALCIBIADES What is it, Timon?\nTIMON Promise me friendship, but perform none: if thou\nwilt not promise, the gods plague thee, for thou art\na man! if thou dost perform, confound thee, for\nthou art a man!\nALCIBIADES I have heard in some sort of thy miseries.\nTIMON Thou saw'st them, when I had prosperity.\nALCIBIADES I see them now; then was a blessed time.\nTIMON As thine is now, held with a brace of harlots.\nTIMANDRA Is this the Athenian minion, whom the world\nVoiced so regardfully?\nTIMON Art thou Timandra?\nTIMANDRA Yes.\nTIMON Be a whore still: they love thee not that use thee;\nGive them diseases, leaving with thee their lust.\nMake use of thy salt hours: season the slaves\nFor tubs and baths; bring down rose-cheeked youth\nTo the tub-fast and the diet.\nTIMANDRA Hang thee, monster!\nALCIBIADES Pardon him, sweet Timandra; for his wits\nAre drown'd and lost in his calamities.\nI have but little gold of late, brave Timon,\nThe want whereof doth daily make revolt\nIn my penurious band: I have heard, and grieved,\nHow cursed Athens, mindless of thy worth,\nForgetting thy great deeds, when neighbour states,\nBut for thy sword and fortune, trod upon them,--\nTIMON I prithee, beat thy drum, and get thee gone.\nALCIBIADES I am thy friend, and pity thee, dear Timon.\nTIMON How dost thou pity him whom thou dost trouble?\nI had rather be alone.\nALCIBIADES Why, fare thee well:\nHere is some gold for thee.\nTIMON Keep it, I cannot eat it.\nALCIBIADES When I have laid proud Athens on a heap,--\nTIMON Warr'st thou 'gainst Athens?\nALCIBIADES Ay, Timon, and have cause.\nTIMON The gods confound them all in thy conquest;\nAnd thee after, when thou hast conquer'd!\nALCIBIADES Why me, Timon?\nTIMON That, by killing of villains,\nThou wast born to conquer my country.\nPut up thy gold: go on,--here's gold,--go on;\nBe as a planetary plague, when Jove\nWill o'er some high-viced city hang his poison\nIn the sick air: let not thy sword skip one:\nPity not honour'd age for his white beard;\nHe is an usurer: strike me the counterfeit matron;\nIt is her habit only that is honest,\nHerself's a bawd: let not the virgin's cheek\nMake soft thy trenchant sword; for those milk-paps,\nThat through the window-bars bore at men's eyes,\nAre not within the leaf of pity writ,\nBut set them down horrible traitors: spare not the babe,\nWhose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their mercy;\nThink it a bastard, whom the oracle\nHath doubtfully pronounced thy throat shall cut,\nAnd mince it sans remorse: swear against objects;\nPut armour on thine ears and on thine eyes;\nWhose proof, nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes,\nNor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding,\nShall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay soldiers:\nMake large confusion; and, thy fury spent,\nConfounded be thyself! Speak not, be gone.\nALCIBIADES Hast thou gold yet? I'll take the gold thou\ngivest me,\nNot all thy counsel.\nTIMON Dost thou, or dost thou not, heaven's curse\nupon thee!\nPHRYNIA |\n| Give us some gold, good Timon: hast thou more?\nTIMANDRA |\nTIMON Enough to make a whore forswear her trade,\nAnd to make whores, a bawd. Hold up, you sluts,\nYour aprons mountant: you are not oathable,\nAlthough, I know, you 'll swear, terribly swear\nInto strong shudders and to heavenly agues\nThe immortal gods that hear you,--spare your oaths,\nI'll trust to your conditions: be whores still;\nAnd he whose pious breath seeks to convert you,\nBe strong in whore, allure him, burn him up;\nLet your close fire predominate his smoke,\nAnd be no turncoats: yet may your pains, six months,\nBe quite contrary: and thatch your poor thin roofs\nWith burthens of the dead;--some that were hang'd,\nNo matter:--wear them, betray with them: whore still;\nPaint till a horse may mire upon your face,\nA pox of wrinkles!\nPHRYNIA |\n| Well, more gold: what then?\nTIMANDRA | Believe't, that we'll do any thing for gold.\nTIMON Consumptions sow\nIn hollow bones of man; strike their sharp shins,\nAnd mar men's spurring. Crack the lawyer's voice,\nThat he may never more false title plead,\nNor sound his quillets shrilly: hoar the flamen,\nThat scolds against the quality of flesh,\nAnd not believes himself: down with the nose,\nDown with it flat; take the bridge quite away\nOf him that, his particular to foresee,\nSmells from the general weal: make curl'd-pate\nruffians bald;\nAnd let the unscarr'd braggarts of the war\nDerive some pain from you: plague all;\nThat your activity may defeat and quell\nThe source of all erection. There's more gold:\nDo you damn others, and let this damn you,\nAnd ditches grave you all!\nPHRYNIA |\n| More counsel with more money, bounteous Timon.\nTIMANDRA |\nTIMON More whore, more mischief first; I have given you earnest.\nALCIBIADES Strike up the drum towards Athens! Farewell, Timon:\nIf I thrive well, I'll visit thee again.\nTIMON If I hope well, I'll never see thee more.\nALCIBIADES I never did thee harm.\nTIMON Yes, thou spokest well of me.\nALCIBIADES Call'st thou that harm?\nTIMON Men daily find it. Get thee away, and take\nThy beagles with thee.\nALCIBIADES We but offend him. Strike!\n[Drum beats. Exeunt ALCIBIADES, PHRYNIA,\nand TIMANDRA]\nTIMON That nature, being sick of man's unkindness,\nShould yet be hungry! Common mother, thou,\n[Digging]\nWhose womb unmeasurable, and infinite breast,\nTeems, and feeds all; whose self-same mettle,\nWhereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is puff'd,\nEngenders the black toad and adder blue,\nThe gilded newt and eyeless venom'd worm,\nWith all the abhorred births below crisp heaven\nWhereon Hyperion's quickening fire doth shine;\nYield him, who all thy human sons doth hate,\nFrom forth thy plenteous bosom, one poor root!\nEnsear thy fertile and conceptious womb,\nLet it no more bring out ingrateful man!\nGo great with tigers, dragons, wolves, and bears;\nTeem with new monsters, whom thy upward face\nHath to the marbled mansion all above\nNever presented!--O, a root,--dear thanks!--\nDry up thy marrows, vines, and plough-torn leas;\nWhereof ungrateful man, with liquorish draughts\nAnd morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind,\nThat from it all consideration slips!\n[Enter APEMANTUS]\nMore man? plague, plague!\nAPEMANTUS I was directed hither: men report\nThou dost affect my manners, and dost use them.\nTIMON 'Tis, then, because thou dost not keep a dog,\nWhom I would imitate: consumption catch thee!\nAPEMANTUS This is in thee a nature but infected;\nA poor unmanly melancholy sprung\nFrom change of fortune. Why this spade? this place?\nThis slave-like habit? and these looks of care?\nThy flatterers yet wear silk, drink wine, lie soft;\nHug their diseased perfumes, and have forgot\nThat ever Timon was. Shame not these woods,\nBy putting on the cunning of a carper.\nBe thou a flatterer now, and seek to thrive\nBy that which has undone thee: hinge thy knee,\nAnd let his very breath, whom thou'lt observe,\nBlow off thy cap; praise his most vicious strain,\nAnd call it excellent: thou wast told thus;\nThou gavest thine ears like tapsters that bid welcome\nTo knaves and all approachers: 'tis most just\nThat thou turn rascal; hadst thou wealth again,\nRascals should have 't. Do not assume my likeness.\nTIMON Were I like thee, I'ld throw away myself.\nAPEMANTUS Thou hast cast away thyself, being like thyself;\nA madman so long, now a fool. What, think'st\nThat the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain,\nWill put thy shirt on warm? will these moss'd trees,\nThat have outlived the eagle, page thy heels,\nAnd skip where thou point'st out? will the\ncold brook,\nCandied with ice, caudle thy morning taste,\nTo cure thy o'er-night's surfeit? Call the creatures\nWhose naked natures live in an the spite\nOf wreakful heaven, whose bare unhoused trunks,\nTo the conflicting elements exposed,\nAnswer mere nature; bid them flatter thee;\nO, thou shalt find--\nTIMON A fool of thee: depart.\nAPEMANTUS I love thee better now than e'er I did.\nTIMON I hate thee worse.\nAPEMANTUS Why?\nTIMON Thou flatter'st misery.\nAPEMANTUS I flatter not; but say thou art a caitiff.\nTIMON Why dost thou seek me out?\nAPEMANTUS To vex thee.\nTIMON Always a villain's office or a fool's.\nDost please thyself in't?\nAPEMANTUS Ay.\nTIMON What! a knave too?\nAPEMANTUS If thou didst put this sour-cold habit on\nTo castigate thy pride, 'twere well: but thou\nDost it enforcedly; thou'ldst courtier be again,\nWert thou not beggar. Willing misery\nOutlives encertain pomp, is crown'd before:\nThe one is filling still, never complete;\nThe other, at high wish: best state, contentless,\nHath a distracted and most wretched being,\nWorse than the worst, content.\nThou shouldst desire to die, being miserable.\nTIMON Not by his breath that is more miserable.\nThou art a slave, whom Fortune's tender arm\nWith favour never clasp'd; but bred a dog.\nHadst thou, like us from our first swath, proceeded\nThe sweet degrees that this brief world affords\nTo such as may the passive drugs of it\nFreely command, thou wouldst have plunged thyself\nIn general riot; melted down thy youth\nIn different beds of lust; and never learn'd\nThe icy precepts of respect, but follow'd\nThe sugar'd game before thee. But myself,\nWho had the world as my confectionary,\nThe mouths, the tongues, the eyes and hearts of men\nAt duty, more than I could frame employment,\nThat numberless upon me stuck as leaves\nDo on the oak, hive with one winter's brush\nFell from their boughs and left me open, bare\nFor every storm that blows: I, to bear this,\nThat never knew but better, is some burden:\nThy nature did commence in sufferance, time\nHath made thee hard in't. Why shouldst thou hate men?\nThey never flatter'd thee: what hast thou given?\nIf thou wilt curse, thy father, that poor rag,\nMust be thy subject, who in spite put stuff\nTo some she beggar and compounded thee\nPoor rogue hereditary. Hence, be gone!\nIf thou hadst not been born the worst of men,\nThou hadst been a knave and flatterer.\nAPEMANTUS Art thou proud yet?\nTIMON Ay, that I am not thee.\nAPEMANTUS I, that I was\nNo prodigal.\nTIMON I, that I am one now:\nWere all the wealth I have shut up in thee,\nI'ld give thee leave to hang it. Get thee gone.\nThat the whole life of Athens were in this!\nThus would I eat it.\n[Eating a root]\nAPEMANTUS Here; I will mend thy feast.\n[Offering him a root]\nTIMON First mend my company, take away thyself.\nAPEMANTUS So I shall mend mine own, by the lack of thine.\nTIMON 'Tis not well mended so, it is but botch'd;\nif not, I would it were.\nAPEMANTUS What wouldst thou have to Athens?\nTIMON Thee thither in a whirlwind. If thou wilt,\nTell them there I have gold; look, so I have.\nAPEMANTUS Here is no use for gold.\nTIMON The best and truest;\nFor here it sleeps, and does no hired harm.\nAPEMANTUS Where liest o' nights, Timon?\nTIMON Under that's above me.\nWhere feed'st thou o' days, Apemantus?\nAPEMANTUS Where my stomach finds meat; or, rather, where I eat\nit.\nTIMON Would poison were obedient and knew my mind!\nAPEMANTUS Where wouldst thou send it?\nTIMON To sauce thy dishes.\nAPEMANTUS The middle of humanity thou never knewest, but the\nextremity of both ends: when thou wast in thy gilt\nand thy perfume, they mocked thee for too much\ncuriosity; in thy rags thou knowest none, but art\ndespised for the contrary. There's a medlar for\nthee, eat it.\nTIMON On what I hate I feed not.\nAPEMANTUS Dost hate a medlar?\nTIMON Ay, though it look like thee.\nAPEMANTUS An thou hadst hated meddlers sooner, thou shouldst\nhave loved thyself better now. What man didst thou\never know unthrift that was beloved after his means?\nTIMON Who, without those means thou talkest of, didst thou\never know beloved?\nAPEMANTUS Myself.\nTIMON I understand thee; thou hadst some means to keep a\ndog.\nAPEMANTUS What things in the world canst thou nearest compare\nto thy flatterers?\nTIMON Women nearest; but men, men are the things\nthemselves. What wouldst thou do with the world,\nApemantus, if it lay in thy power?\nAPEMANTUS Give it the beasts, to be rid of the men.\nTIMON Wouldst thou have thyself fall in the confusion of\nmen, and remain a beast with the beasts?\nAPEMANTUS Ay, Timon.\nTIMON A beastly ambition, which the gods grant thee t'\nattain to! If thou wert the lion, the fox would\nbeguile thee; if thou wert the lamb, the fox would\neat three: if thou wert the fox, the lion would\nsuspect thee, when peradventure thou wert accused by\nthe ass: if thou wert the ass, thy dulness would\ntorment thee, and still thou livedst but as a\nbreakfast to the wolf: if thou wert the wolf, thy\ngreediness would afflict thee, and oft thou shouldst\nhazard thy life for thy dinner: wert thou the\nunicorn, pride and wrath would confound thee and\nmake thine own self the conquest of thy fury: wert\nthou a bear, thou wouldst be killed by the horse:\nwert thou a horse, thou wouldst be seized by the\nleopard: wert thou a leopard, thou wert german to\nthe lion and the spots of thy kindred were jurors on\nthy life: all thy safety were remotion and thy\ndefence absence. What beast couldst thou be, that\nwere not subject to a beast? and what a beast art\nthou already, that seest not thy loss in\ntransformation!\nAPEMANTUS If thou couldst please me with speaking to me, thou\nmightst have hit upon it here: the commonwealth of\nAthens is become a forest of beasts.\nTIMON How has the ass broke the wall, that thou art out of the city?\nAPEMANTUS Yonder comes a poet and a painter: the plague of\ncompany light upon thee! I will fear to catch it\nand give way: when I know not what else to do, I'll\nsee thee again.\nTIMON When there is nothing living but thee, thou shalt be\nwelcome. I had rather be a beggar's dog than Apemantus.\nAPEMANTUS Thou art the cap of all the fools alive.\nTIMON Would thou wert clean enough to spit upon!\nAPEMANTUS A plague on thee! thou art too bad to curse.\nTIMON All villains that do stand by thee are pure.\nAPEMANTUS There is no leprosy but what thou speak'st.\nTIMON If I name thee.\nI'll beat thee, but I should infect my hands.\nAPEMANTUS I would my tongue could rot them off!\nTIMON Away, thou issue of a mangy dog!\nCholer does kill me that thou art alive;\nI swound to see thee.\nAPEMANTUS Would thou wouldst burst!\nTIMON Away,\nThou tedious rogue! I am sorry I shall lose\nA stone by thee.\n[Throws a stone at him]\nAPEMANTUS Beast!\nTIMON Slave!\nAPEMANTUS Toad!\nTIMON Rogue, rogue, rogue!\nI am sick of this false world, and will love nought\nBut even the mere necessities upon 't.\nThen, Timon, presently prepare thy grave;\nLie where the light foam the sea may beat\nThy grave-stone daily: make thine epitaph,\nThat death in me at others' lives may laugh.\n[To the gold]\nO thou sweet king-killer, and dear divorce\n'Twixt natural son and sire! thou bright defiler\nOf Hymen's purest bed! thou valiant Mars!\nThou ever young, fresh, loved and delicate wooer,\nWhose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow\nThat lies on Dian's lap! thou visible god,\nThat solder'st close impossibilities,\nAnd makest them kiss! that speak'st with\nevery tongue,\nTo every purpose! O thou touch of hearts!\nThink, thy slave man rebels, and by thy virtue\nSet them into confounding odds, that beasts\nMay have the world in empire!\nAPEMANTUS Would 'twere so!\nBut not till I am dead. I'll say thou'st gold:\nThou wilt be throng'd to shortly.\nTIMON Throng'd to!\nAPEMANTUS Ay.\nTIMON Thy back, I prithee.\nAPEMANTUS Live, and love thy misery.\nTIMON Long live so, and so die.\n[Exit APEMANTUS]\nI am quit.\nMoe things like men! Eat, Timon, and abhor them.\n[Enter Banditti]\nFirst Bandit Where should he have this gold? It is some poor\nfragment, some slender sort of his remainder: the\nmere want of gold, and the falling-from of his\nfriends, drove him into this melancholy.\nSecond Bandit It is noised he hath a mass of treasure.\nThird Bandit Let us make the assay upon him: if he care not\nfor't, he will supply us easily; if he covetously\nreserve it, how shall's get it?\nSecond Bandit True; for he bears it not about him, 'tis hid.\nFirst Bandit Is not this he?\nBanditti Where?\nSecond Bandit 'Tis his description.\nThird Bandit He; I know him.\nBanditti Save thee, Timon.\nTIMON Now, thieves?\nBanditti Soldiers, not thieves.\nTIMON Both too; and women's sons.\nBanditti We are not thieves, but men that much do want.\nTIMON Your greatest want is, you want much of meat.\nWhy should you want? Behold, the earth hath roots;\nWithin this mile break forth a hundred springs;\nThe oaks bear mast, the briers scarlet hips;\nThe bounteous housewife, nature, on each bush\nLays her full mess before you. Want! why want?\nFirst Bandit We cannot live on grass, on berries, water,\nAs beasts and birds and fishes.\nTIMON Nor on the beasts themselves, the birds, and fishes;\nYou must eat men. Yet thanks I must you con\nThat you are thieves profess'd, that you work not\nIn holier shapes: for there is boundless theft\nIn limited professions. Rascal thieves,\nHere's gold. Go, suck the subtle blood o' the grape,\nTill the high fever seethe your blood to froth,\nAnd so 'scape hanging: trust not the physician;\nHis antidotes are poison, and he slays\nMoe than you rob: take wealth and lives together;\nDo villany, do, since you protest to do't,\nLike workmen. I'll example you with thievery.\nThe sun's a thief, and with his great attraction\nRobs the vast sea: the moon's an arrant thief,\nAnd her pale fire she snatches from the sun:\nThe sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves\nThe moon into salt tears: the earth's a thief,\nThat feeds and breeds by a composture stolen\nFrom general excrement: each thing's a thief:\nThe laws, your curb and whip, in their rough power\nHave uncheque'd theft. Love not yourselves: away,\nRob one another. There's more gold. Cut throats:\nAll that you meet are thieves: to Athens go,\nBreak open shops; nothing can you steal,\nBut thieves do lose it: steal no less for this\nI give you; and gold confound you howsoe'er! Amen.\nThird Bandit Has almost charmed me from my profession, by\npersuading me to it.\nFirst Bandit 'Tis in the malice of mankind that he thus advises\nus; not to have us thrive in our mystery.\nSecond Bandit I'll believe him as an enemy, and give over my trade.\nFirst Bandit Let us first see peace in Athens: there is no time\nso miserable but a man may be true.\n[Exeunt Banditti]\n[Enter FLAVIUS]\nFLAVIUS O you gods!\nIs yond despised and ruinous man my lord?\nFull of decay and failing? O monument\nAnd wonder of good deeds evilly bestow'd!\nWhat an alteration of honour\nHas desperate want made!\nWhat viler thing upon the earth than friends\nWho can bring noblest minds to basest ends!\nHow rarely does it meet with this time's guise,\nWhen man was wish'd to love his enemies!\nGrant I may ever love, and rather woo\nThose that would mischief me than those that do!\nHas caught me in his eye: I will present\nMy honest grief unto him; and, as my lord,\nStill serve him with my life. My dearest master!\nTIMON Away! what art thou?\nFLAVIUS Have you forgot me, sir?\nTIMON Why dost ask that? I have forgot all men;\nThen, if thou grant'st thou'rt a man, I have forgot thee.\nFLAVIUS An honest poor servant of yours.\nTIMON Then I know thee not:\nI never had honest man about me, I; all\nI kept were knaves, to serve in meat to villains.\nFLAVIUS The gods are witness,\nNe'er did poor steward wear a truer grief\nFor his undone lord than mine eyes for you.\nTIMON What, dost thou weep? Come nearer. Then I\nlove thee,\nBecause thou art a woman, and disclaim'st\nFlinty mankind; whose eyes do never give\nBut thorough lust and laughter. Pity's sleeping:\nStrange times, that weep with laughing, not with weeping!\nFLAVIUS I beg of you to know me, good my lord,\nTo accept my grief and whilst this poor wealth lasts\nTo entertain me as your steward still.\nTIMON Had I a steward\nSo true, so just, and now so comfortable?\nIt almost turns my dangerous nature mild.\nLet me behold thy face. Surely, this man\nWas born of woman.\nForgive my general and exceptless rashness,\nYou perpetual-sober gods! I do proclaim\nOne honest man--mistake me not--but one;\nNo more, I pray,--and he's a steward.\nHow fain would I have hated all mankind!\nAnd thou redeem'st thyself: but all, save thee,\nI fell with curses.\nMethinks thou art more honest now than wise;\nFor, by oppressing and betraying me,\nThou mightst have sooner got another service:\nFor many so arrive at second masters,\nUpon their first lord's neck. But tell me true--\nFor I must ever doubt, though ne'er so sure--\nIs not thy kindness subtle, covetous,\nIf not a usuring kindness, and, as rich men deal gifts,\nExpecting in return twenty for one?\nFLAVIUS No, my most worthy master; in whose breast\nDoubt and suspect, alas, are placed too late:\nYou should have fear'd false times when you did feast:\nSuspect still comes where an estate is least.\nThat which I show, heaven knows, is merely love,\nDuty and zeal to your unmatched mind,\nCare of your food and living; and, believe it,\nMy most honour'd lord,\nFor any benefit that points to me,\nEither in hope or present, I'ld exchange\nFor this one wish, that you had power and wealth\nTo requite me, by making rich yourself.\nTIMON Look thee, 'tis so! Thou singly honest man,\nHere, take: the gods out of my misery\nHave sent thee treasure. Go, live rich and happy;\nBut thus condition'd: thou shalt build from men;\nHate all, curse all, show charity to none,\nBut let the famish'd flesh slide from the bone,\nEre thou relieve the beggar; give to dogs\nWhat thou deny'st to men; let prisons swallow 'em,\nDebts wither 'em to nothing; be men like\nblasted woods,\nAnd may diseases lick up their false bloods!\nAnd so farewell and thrive.\nFLAVIUS O, let me stay,\nAnd comfort you, my master.\nTIMON If thou hatest curses,\nStay not; fly, whilst thou art blest and free:\nNe'er see thou man, and let me ne'er see thee.\n[Exit FLAVIUS. TIMON retires to his cave]\nTIMON OF ATHENS\nACT V\nSCENE I The woods. Before Timon's cave.\n[Enter Poet and Painter; TIMON watching\nthem from his cave]\nPainter As I took note of the place, it cannot be far where\nhe abides.\nPoet What's to be thought of him? does the rumour hold\nfor true, that he's so full of gold?\nPainter Certain: Alcibiades reports it; Phrynia and\nTimandra had gold of him: he likewise enriched poor\nstraggling soldiers with great quantity: 'tis said\nhe gave unto his steward a mighty sum.\nPoet Then this breaking of his has been but a try for his friends.\nPainter Nothing else: you shall see him a palm in Athens\nagain, and flourish with the highest. Therefore\n'tis not amiss we tender our loves to him, in this\nsupposed distress of his: it will show honestly in\nus; and is very likely to load our purposes with\nwhat they travail for, if it be a just true report\nthat goes of his having.\nPoet What have you now to present unto him?\nPainter Nothing at this time but my visitation: only I will\npromise him an excellent piece.\nPoet I must serve him so too, tell him of an intent\nthat's coming toward him.\nPainter Good as the best. Promising is the very air o' the\ntime: it opens the eyes of expectation:\nperformance is ever the duller for his act; and,\nbut in the plainer and simpler kind of people, the\ndeed of saying is quite out of use. To promise is\nmost courtly and fashionable: performance is a kind\nof will or testament which argues a great sickness\nin his judgment that makes it.\n[TIMON comes from his cave, behind]\nTIMON [Aside] Excellent workman! thou canst not paint a\nman so bad as is thyself.\nPoet I am thinking what I shall say I have provided for\nhim: it must be a personating of himself; a satire\nagainst the softness of prosperity, with a discovery\nof the infinite flatteries that follow youth and opulency.\nTIMON [Aside] Must thou needs stand for a villain in\nthine own work? wilt thou whip thine own faults in\nother men? Do so, I have gold for thee.\nPoet Nay, let's seek him:\nThen do we sin against our own estate,\nWhen we may profit meet, and come too late.\nPainter True;\nWhen the day serves, before black-corner'd night,\nFind what thou want'st by free and offer'd light. Come.\nTIMON [Aside] I'll meet you at the turn. What a\ngod's gold,\nThat he is worshipp'd in a baser temple\nThan where swine feed!\n'Tis thou that rigg'st the bark and plough'st the foam,\nSettlest admired reverence in a slave:\nTo thee be worship! and thy saints for aye\nBe crown'd with plagues that thee alone obey!\nFit I meet them.\n[Coming forward]\nPoet Hail, worthy Timon!\nPainter Our late noble master!\nTIMON Have I once lived to see two honest men?\nPoet Sir,\nHaving often of your open bounty tasted,\nHearing you were retired, your friends fall'n off,\nWhose thankless natures--O abhorred spirits!--\nNot all the whips of heaven are large enough:\nWhat! to you,\nWhose star-like nobleness gave life and influence\nTo their whole being! I am rapt and cannot cover\nThe monstrous bulk of this ingratitude\nWith any size of words.\nTIMON Let it go naked, men may see't the better:\nYou that are honest, by being what you are,\nMake them best seen and known.\nPainter He and myself\nHave travail'd in the great shower of your gifts,\nAnd sweetly felt it.\nTIMON Ay, you are honest men.\nPainter We are hither come to offer you our service.\nTIMON Most honest men! Why, how shall I requite you?\nCan you eat roots, and drink cold water? no.\nBoth What we can do, we'll do, to do you service.\nTIMON Ye're honest men: ye've heard that I have gold;\nI am sure you have: speak truth; ye're honest men.\nPainter So it is said, my noble lord; but therefore\nCame not my friend nor I.\nTIMON Good honest men! Thou draw'st a counterfeit\nBest in all Athens: thou'rt, indeed, the best;\nThou counterfeit'st most lively.\nPainter So, so, my lord.\nTIMON E'en so, sir, as I say. And, for thy fiction,\nWhy, thy verse swells with stuff so fine and smooth\nThat thou art even natural in thine art.\nBut, for all this, my honest-natured friends,\nI must needs say you have a little fault:\nMarry, 'tis not monstrous in you, neither wish I\nYou take much pains to mend.\nBoth Beseech your honour\nTo make it known to us.\nTIMON You'll take it ill.\nBoth Most thankfully, my lord.\nTIMON Will you, indeed?\nBoth Doubt it not, worthy lord.\nTIMON There's never a one of you but trusts a knave,\nThat mightily deceives you.\nBoth Do we, my lord?\nTIMON Ay, and you hear him cog, see him dissemble,\nKnow his gross patchery, love him, feed him,\nKeep in your bosom: yet remain assured\nThat he's a made-up villain.\nPainter I know none such, my lord.\nPoet Nor I.\nTIMON Look you, I love you well; I'll give you gold,\nRid me these villains from your companies:\nHang them or stab them, drown them in a draught,\nConfound them by some course, and come to me,\nI'll give you gold enough.\nBoth Name them, my lord, let's know them.\nTIMON You that way and you this, but two in company;\nEach man apart, all single and alone,\nYet an arch-villain keeps him company.\nIf where thou art two villains shall not be,\nCome not near him. If thou wouldst not reside\nBut where one villain is, then him abandon.\nHence, pack! there's gold; you came for gold, ye slaves:\n[To Painter]\nYou have work'd for me; there's payment for you: hence!\n[To Poet]\nYou are an alchemist; make gold of that.\nOut, rascal dogs!\n[Beats them out, and then retires to his cave]\n[Enter FLAVIUS and two Senators]\nFLAVIUS It is in vain that you would speak with Timon;\nFor he is set so only to himself\nThat nothing but himself which looks like man\nIs friendly with him.\nFirst Senator Bring us to his cave:\nIt is our part and promise to the Athenians\nTo speak with Timon.\nSecond Senator At all times alike\nMen are not still the same: 'twas time and griefs\nThat framed him thus: time, with his fairer hand,\nOffering the fortunes of his former days,\nThe former man may make him. Bring us to him,\nAnd chance it as it may.\nFLAVIUS Here is his cave.\nPeace and content be here! Lord Timon! Timon!\nLook out, and speak to friends: the Athenians,\nBy two of their most reverend senate, greet thee:\nSpeak to them, noble Timon.\n[TIMON comes from his cave]\nTIMON Thou sun, that comfort'st, burn! Speak, and\nbe hang'd:\nFor each true word, a blister! and each false\nBe as cauterizing to the root o' the tongue,\nConsuming it with speaking!\nFirst Senator Worthy Timon,--\nTIMON Of none but such as you, and you of Timon.\nFirst Senator The senators of Athens greet thee, Timon.\nTIMON I thank them; and would send them back the plague,\nCould I but catch it for them.\nFirst Senator O, forget\nWhat we are sorry for ourselves in thee.\nThe senators with one consent of love\nEntreat thee back to Athens; who have thought\nOn special dignities, which vacant lie\nFor thy best use and wearing.\nSecond Senator They confess\nToward thee forgetfulness too general, gross:\nWhich now the public body, which doth seldom\nPlay the recanter, feeling in itself\nA lack of Timon's aid, hath sense withal\nOf its own fail, restraining aid to Timon;\nAnd send forth us, to make their sorrow'd render,\nTogether with a recompense more fruitful\nThan their offence can weigh down by the dram;\nAy, even such heaps and sums of love and wealth\nAs shall to thee blot out what wrongs were theirs\nAnd write in thee the figures of their love,\nEver to read them thine.\nTIMON You witch me in it;\nSurprise me to the very brink of tears:\nLend me a fool's heart and a woman's eyes,\nAnd I'll beweep these comforts, worthy senators.\nFirst Senator Therefore, so please thee to return with us\nAnd of our Athens, thine and ours, to take\nThe captainship, thou shalt be met with thanks,\nAllow'd with absolute power and thy good name\nLive with authority: so soon we shall drive back\nOf Alcibiades the approaches wild,\nWho, like a boar too savage, doth root up\nHis country's peace.\nSecond Senator And shakes his threatening sword\nAgainst the walls of Athens.\nFirst Senator Therefore, Timon,--\nTIMON Well, sir, I will; therefore, I will, sir; thus:\nIf Alcibiades kill my countrymen,\nLet Alcibiades know this of Timon,\nThat Timon cares not. But if be sack fair Athens,\nAnd take our goodly aged men by the beards,\nGiving our holy virgins to the stain\nOf contumelious, beastly, mad-brain'd war,\nThen let him know, and tell him Timon speaks it,\nIn pity of our aged and our youth,\nI cannot choose but tell him, that I care not,\nAnd let him take't at worst; for their knives care not,\nWhile you have throats to answer: for myself,\nThere's not a whittle in the unruly camp\nBut I do prize it at my love before\nThe reverend'st throat in Athens. So I leave you\nTo the protection of the prosperous gods,\nAs thieves to keepers.\nFLAVIUS Stay not, all's in vain.\nTIMON Why, I was writing of my epitaph;\nit will be seen to-morrow: my long sickness\nOf health and living now begins to mend,\nAnd nothing brings me all things. Go, live still;\nBe Alcibiades your plague, you his,\nAnd last so long enough!\nFirst Senator We speak in vain.\nTIMON But yet I love my country, and am not\nOne that rejoices in the common wreck,\nAs common bruit doth put it.\nFirst Senator That's well spoke.\nTIMON Commend me to my loving countrymen,--\nFirst Senator These words become your lips as they pass\nthorough them.\nSecond Senator And enter in our ears like great triumphers\nIn their applauding gates.\nTIMON Commend me to them,\nAnd tell them that, to ease them of their griefs,\nTheir fears of hostile strokes, their aches, losses,\nTheir pangs of love, with other incident throes\nThat nature's fragile vessel doth sustain\nIn life's uncertain voyage, I will some kindness do them:\nI'll teach them to prevent wild Alcibiades' wrath.\nFirst Senator I like this well; he will return again.\nTIMON I have a tree, which grows here in my close,\nThat mine own use invites me to cut down,\nAnd shortly must I fell it: tell my friends,\nTell Athens, in the sequence of degree\nFrom high to low throughout, that whoso please\nTo stop affliction, let him take his haste,\nCome hither, ere my tree hath felt the axe,\nAnd hang himself. I pray you, do my greeting.\nFLAVIUS Trouble him no further; thus you still shall find him.\nTIMON Come not to me again: but say to Athens,\nTimon hath made his everlasting mansion\nUpon the beached verge of the salt flood;\nWho once a day with his embossed froth\nThe turbulent surge shall cover: thither come,\nAnd let my grave-stone be your oracle.\nLips, let sour words go by and language end:\nWhat is amiss plague and infection mend!\nGraves only be men's works and death their gain!\nSun, hide thy beams! Timon hath done his reign.\n[Retires to his cave]\nFirst Senator His discontents are unremoveably\nCoupled to nature.\nSecond Senator Our hope in him is dead: let us return,\nAnd strain what other means is left unto us\nIn our dear peril.\nFirst Senator It requires swift foot.\n[Exeunt]\nTIMON OF ATHENS\nACT V\nSCENE II Before the walls of Athens.\n[Enter two Senators and a Messenger]\nFirst Senator Thou hast painfully discover'd: are his files\nAs full as thy report?\nMessenger have spoke the least:\nBesides, his expedition promises\nPresent approach.\nSecond Senator We stand much hazard, if they bring not Timon.\nMessenger I met a courier, one mine ancient friend;\nWhom, though in general part we were opposed,\nYet our old love made a particular force,\nAnd made us speak like friends: this man was riding\nFrom Alcibiades to Timon's cave,\nWith letters of entreaty, which imported\nHis fellowship i' the cause against your city,\nIn part for his sake moved.\nFirst Senator Here come our brothers.\n[Enter the Senators from TIMON]\nThird Senator No talk of Timon, nothing of him expect.\nThe enemies' drum is heard, and fearful scouring\nDoth choke the air with dust: in, and prepare:\nOurs is the fall, I fear; our foes the snare.\n[Exeunt]\nTIMON OF ATHENS\nACT V\nSCENE III The woods. Timon's cave, and a rude tomb seen.\n[Enter a Soldier, seeking TIMON]\nSoldier By all description this should be the place.\nWho's here? speak, ho! No answer! What is this?\nTimon is dead, who hath outstretch'd his span:\nSome beast rear'd this; there does not live a man.\nDead, sure; and this his grave. What's on this tomb\nI cannot read; the character I'll take with wax:\nOur captain hath in every figure skill,\nAn aged interpreter, though young in days:\nBefore proud Athens he's set down by this,\nWhose fall the mark of his ambition is.\n[Exit]\nTIMON OF ATHENS\nACT V\nSCENE IV Before the walls of Athens.\n[Trumpets sound. Enter ALCIBIADES with his powers]\nALCIBIADES Sound to this coward and lascivious town\nOur terrible approach.\n[A parley sounded]\n[Enter Senators on the walls]\nTill now you have gone on and fill'd the time\nWith all licentious measure, making your wills\nThe scope of justice; till now myself and such\nAs slept within the shadow of your power\nHave wander'd with our traversed arms and breathed\nOur sufferance vainly: now the time is flush,\nWhen crouching marrow in the bearer strong\nCries of itself 'No more:' now breathless wrong\nShall sit and pant in your great chairs of ease,\nAnd pursy insolence shall break his wind\nWith fear and horrid flight.\nFirst Senator Noble and young,\nWhen thy first griefs were but a mere conceit,\nEre thou hadst power or we had cause of fear,\nWe sent to thee, to give thy rages balm,\nTo wipe out our ingratitude with loves\nAbove their quantity.\nSecond Senator So did we woo\nTransformed Timon to our city's love\nBy humble message and by promised means:\nWe were not all unkind, nor all deserve\nThe common stroke of war.\nFirst Senator These walls of ours\nWere not erected by their hands from whom\nYou have received your griefs; nor are they such\nThat these great towers, trophies and schools\nshould fall\nFor private faults in them.\nSecond Senator Nor are they living\nWho were the motives that you first went out;\nShame that they wanted cunning, in excess\nHath broke their hearts. March, noble lord,\nInto our city with thy banners spread:\nBy decimation, and a tithed death--\nIf thy revenges hunger for that food\nWhich nature loathes--take thou the destined tenth,\nAnd by the hazard of the spotted die\nLet die the spotted.\nFirst Senator All have not offended;\nFor those that were, it is not square to take\nOn those that are, revenges: crimes, like lands,\nAre not inherited. Then, dear countryman,\nBring in thy ranks, but leave without thy rage:\nSpare thy Athenian cradle and those kin\nWhich in the bluster of thy wrath must fall\nWith those that have offended: like a shepherd,\nApproach the fold and cull the infected forth,\nBut kill not all together.\nSecond Senator What thou wilt,\nThou rather shalt enforce it with thy smile\nThan hew to't with thy sword.\nFirst Senator Set but thy foot\nAgainst our rampired gates, and they shall ope;\nSo thou wilt send thy gentle heart before,\nTo say thou'lt enter friendly.\nSecond Senator Throw thy glove,\nOr any token of thine honour else,\nThat thou wilt use the wars as thy redress\nAnd not as our confusion, all thy powers\nShall make their harbour in our town, till we\nHave seal'd thy full desire.\nALCIBIADES Then there's my glove;\nDescend, and open your uncharged ports:\nThose enemies of Timon's and mine own\nWhom you yourselves shall set out for reproof\nFall and no more: and, to atone your fears\nWith my more noble meaning, not a man\nShall pass his quarter, or offend the stream\nOf regular justice in your city's bounds,\nBut shall be render'd to your public laws\nAt heaviest answer.\nBoth 'Tis most nobly spoken.\nALCIBIADES Descend, and keep your words.\n[The Senators descend, and open the gates]\n[Enter Soldier]\nSoldier My noble general, Timon is dead;\nEntomb'd upon the very hem o' the sea;\nAnd on his grave-stone this insculpture, which\nWith wax I brought away, whose soft impression\nInterprets for my poor ignorance.\nALCIBIADES [Reads the epitaph] 'Here lies a\nwretched corse, of wretched soul bereft:\nSeek not my name: a plague consume you wicked\ncaitiffs left!\nHere lie I, Timon; who, alive, all living men did hate:\nPass by and curse thy fill, but pass and stay\nnot here thy gait.'\nThese well express in thee thy latter spirits:\nThough thou abhorr'dst in us our human griefs,\nScorn'dst our brain's flow and those our\ndroplets which\nFrom niggard nature fall, yet rich conceit\nTaught thee to make vast Neptune weep for aye\nOn thy low grave, on faults forgiven. Dead\nIs noble Timon: of whose memory\nHereafter more. Bring me into your city,\nAnd I will use the olive with my sword,\nMake war breed peace, make peace stint war, make each\nPrescribe to other as each other's leech.\nLet our drums strike.\n[Exeunt]","title":"Timon of Athens","type":"page"}