Tim. Let me look back upon thee. O thou wall,
That girdlest in those wolves, dive in the earth,
And fence not Athens! Matrons, turn incontinent;
Obedience fail in children! slaves, and fools,
Pluck the grave wrinkled senate from the bench,
And minister in their steads! to general filths
Convert o' the instant green virginity!

Do't in your parents' eyes! bankrupts, hold fast;
Rather than render back, out with your knives,
And cut your trusters' throats! bound servants, steal!
Large-handed robbers your grave masters are,
And pill by law: maid, to thy master's bed;
Thy mistress is o' the brothel! son of sixteen,
Pluck the lin'd crutch from thy old limping sire,
With it beat out his brains! piety, and fear,
Religion to the gods, peace, justice, truth,
Domestic awe, night-rest, and neighbourhood,
Instruction, manners, mysteries, and trades,
Degrees, observances, customs, and laws,
Decline to your confounding contraries,

And yet confusion live!-Plagues, incident to men,
Your potent and infectious fevers heap
On Athens, ripe for stroke! thou cold sciatica,
Cripple our senators, that their limbs may halt
As lamely as their manners! lust and liberty
Creep in the minds and marrows of our youth,
That 'gainst the stream of virtue they may strive,
And drown themselves in riot! itches, blains,
Sow all the Athenian bosoms, and their crop
Be general leprosy! breath infect breath,
That their society, as their friendship, may
Be merely poison! Nothing I'll bear from thee,
But nakedness, thou detestable town!
Take thou that too, with multiplying bans!
Timon will to the woods; where he shall find
Th' unkindest beast more kinder than mankind.
The gods confound (hear me, you good gods all)
The Athenians both within and out that wall!
And grant, as Timon grows, his hate may grow
To the whole race of mankind, high, and low!
Amen.
[Exit.

SCENE II.-Athens. A Room in TIMON's house.

Enter FLAVIUS, with two or three Servants.

1 Serv. Hear you, master steward! where's our master?

Are we undone? cast off? nothing remaining? Flav. Alack! my fellows, what should I say to you?

Let me be recorded by the righteous gods,
I am as poor as you.

1 Serv.
Such a house broke!
So noble a master fallen! All gone, and not
One friend to take his fortune by the arm,
And go along with him!

2 Serv.
As we do turn our backs
From our companion, thrown into his grave,
So his familiars to his buried fortunes
Slink all away; leave their false vows with him,
Like empty purses pick'd; and his poor self,
A dedicated beggar to the air,

With his disease of all-shunn'd poverty,

Walks, like contempt, alone.-More of our fellows.

Enter other Servants.

Flav. All broken implements of a ruin'd house. 3 Serv. Yet do our hearts wear Timon's livery, That see I by our faces: we are fellows still, Serving alike in sorrow. Leak'd is our bark; And we, poor mates, stand on the dying deck, Hearing the surges threat: we must all part Into this sea of air.

Flav. Good fellows all, The latest of my wealth I'll share amongst you. Wherever we shall meet, for Timon's sake, Let's yet be fellows; let's shake our heads, and say, As 'twere a knell unto our master's fortunes, "We have seen better days." Let each take some; [Giving them money. Nay, put out all your hands. Not one word more : Thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poor. [They embrace, and part several ways. O, the fierce wretchedness that glory brings us!

Who would not wish to be from wealth exempt,
Since riches point to misery and contempt?
Who would be so mock'd with glory? or to live
But in a dream of friendship?

To have his pomp, and all what state compounds,
But only painted, like his varnished friends?
Poor honest lord! brought low by his own heart;
Undone by goodness. Strange, unusual blood,
When man's worst sin is, he does too much good!
Who, then, dares to be half so kind again?
For bounty, that makes gods, does still mar men.
My dearest lord,-bless'd, to be most accurs'd,
Rich, only to be wretched,-thy great fortunes
Are made thy chief afflictions. Alas, kind lord!
He's flung in rage from this ingrateful seat

Of monstrous friends;

Nor has he with him to supply his life,

Or that which can command it.

I'll follow, and inquire him out:

I'll ever serve his mind with my best will;

Whilst I have gold I'll be his steward still. [Exit.

SCENE III.-The Woods.

Enter TIMON.

Tim. O, blessed breeding sun! draw from the earth

Rotten humidity; below thy sister's orb
Infect the air. Twinn'd brothers of one womb,
Whose procreation, residence, and birth,

Scarce is dividant, touch them with several fortunes,
The greater scorns the lesser: not nature,

(To whom all sores lay siege,) can bear great fortune, But by contempt of nature.

Raise me this beggar, and deny't that lord;
The senator shall bear contempt hereditary,
The beggar native honour.

It is the pasture lards the rother's sides,

The want that makes him lean. Who dares, who dares,

In purity of manhood stand upright,

And say,
"This man's a flatterer?" if one be,
So are they all; for every grise of fortune
Is smooth'd by that below: the learned pate
Ducks to the golden fool. All is oblique ;
There's nothing level in our cursed natures,
But direct villany. Therefore, be abhorr'd
All feasts, societies, and throngs of men!
His semblable, yea, himself, Timon disdains:
Destruction fang mankind!-Earth, yield me roots!
[Digging.

Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate
With thy most operant poison-What is here?
Gold? yellow, glittering, precious gold? No, gods,
I am no idle votarist. Roots, you clear heavens!
Thus much of this will make black, white; foul,
fair;

Wrong, right; base, noble; old, young; coward, valiant.

Ha! you gods, why this? What this, you gods! Why, this

Will lug your priests and servants from your sides,
Pluck stout men's pillows from below their heads.
This yellow slave

Will knit and break religions; bless th' accurs'd;
Make the hoar leprosy ador'd; place thieves,
And give them title, knee, and approbation,
With senators on the bench: this is it,
That makes the wappen'd widow wed again;
She, whom the spital-house, and ulcerous sores
Would cast the gorge at, this embalms and spices

Tim. I will not kiss thee; then, the rot returns To thine own lips again.

Alcib. How came the noble Timon to this change?

Tim. As the moon does, by wanting light to give:
But then, renew I could not, like the moon;
There were no suns to borrow of.

Alcib.
What friendship may I do thee?
Tim.

Maintain my opinion.

Noble Timon,

None, but to

What is it, Timon?

Alcib. Tim. Promise me friendship, but perform none. if thou wilt not promise, the gods plague thee, for thou art a man! if thou dost perform, confound thee, for thou art a man!

Alcib. I have heard in some sort of thy miseries. Tim. Thou saw'st them, when I had prosperity. Alcib. I see them now; then was a blessed time. Tim. As thine is now, held with a brace of harlots. Timan. Is this th' Athenian minion, whom the world Voic'd so regardfully?

Tim.

Timan. Yes.

Art thou Timandra?

Tim. Be a whore still! they love thee not, that use thee:

Give them diseases, leaving with thee their lust.
Make use of thy salt hours; season the slaves
For tubs, and baths; bring down rose-cheeked
youth

To the tub-fast, and the diet.

Timan. Hang thee, monster! Alcib. Pardon him, sweet Timandra, for his wits Are drown'd and lost in his calamities.

I have but little gold of late, brave Timon,

Here is some gold for thee.

Tim.

Keep it, I cannot eat it. Alcib. When I have laid proud Athens on a heap,

Tim. Warr'st thou 'gainst Athens?

Alcib. Ay Timon, and have cause.

Tim. The gods confound them all in thy conquest; and thee after, when thou hast conquered. Alcib. Why me, Timon?

Tim. That, by killing of villains, thou wast born to conquer my country.

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

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

He is an usurer. Strike me the counterfeit matron;

95

It is her habit only that is honest,
Herself's a bawd. Let not the virgin's cheek
Make soft thy trenchant sword, for those milk-paps,
That through the window-bars bore at men's eyes,
Are not within the leaf of pity writ,

But set them down horrible traitors. Spare not the babe,

Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their mercy:

Think it a bastard, whom the oracle

Hath doubtfully pronounc'd thy throat shall cut,
And mince it sans remorse: swear against objects;
Put armour on thine ears, and on thine eyes,
Whose proof, nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes,
Nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding,
Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay thy soldiers:
Make large confusion; and thy fury spent,
Confounded be thyself! Speak not, be gone.
Alcib. Hast thou gold yet? I'll take the gold
thou giv'st me,

Not all thy counsel.

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

Phry. & Timan. Give us some gold, good Timon:

hast thou more?

Tim. Enough to make a whore forswear her trade, And to make whores, a bawd. Hold up, you sluts, Your aprons mountant: you are not oathable,Although, I know, you'll swear, terribly swear,

Into strong shudders, and to heavenly agues,
The immortal gods that hear you,-spare your
oaths,

I'll trust to your conditions: be whores still;
And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you,
Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up;
Let your close fire predominate his smoke,
And be no turncoats. Yet may your pains, six
months,

Be quite contrary: and thatch your poor thin roofs
With burdens of the dead;-some that were hang'd,
No matter:-wear them, betray with them: whore
still;

Paint till a horse may mire upon your face:
A pox of wrinkles!

Phry. & Timan. Well, more gold.
then?-

What

In hollow bones of man; strike their sharp shins,
And mar men's spurring. Crack the lawyer's voice,
That he may never more false title plead,
Nor sound his quillets shrilly: hoarse the flamen,
That scolds against the quality of flesh,
And not believes himself: down with the nose,
Down with it flat; take the bridge quite away
Of him, that his particular to foresee,

Smells from the general weal: make curl'd-pate

ruffians bald;

And let the unscarr'd braggarts of the war
Derive some pain from you. Plague all,
That your activity may defeat and quell
The source of all erection.-There's more gold:
Do you damn others, and let this damn you,
And ditches grave you all!

Phry. & Timan. More counsel with more money, bounteous Timon.

Tim. More whore, more mischief first; I have given you earnest.

Alcib. Strike up the drum towards Athens ! Farewell, Timon:

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

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

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

Call'st thou that harm?

[Digging.

Whose womb unmeasurable, and infinite breast,
Teems, and feeds all; whose self-same mettle,
Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is puff'd,
Engenders the black toad, and adder blue,
The gilded newt, and eyeless venom'd worm,
With all the abhorred births below crisp heaven
Whereon Hyperion's quickening fire doth shine;
Yield him, who all the human sons doth hate,
From forth thy plenteous bosom, one poor root!
Ensear thy fertile and conceptious womb;
Let it no more bring out ingrateful man!
Go great with tigers, dragons, wolves, and bears;
Teem with new monsters, whom thy upward face
Hath to the marbled mansion all above
Never presented!-O! a root,-dear thanks!

Dry up thy marrows, vines, and plough-torn leas; Whereof ingrateful man, with liquorish draughts, And morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind, That from it all consideration slips

Enter APEMANTUS.

More man? Plague! plague!

Apem. I was directed hither: men report,
Thou dost affect my manners, and dost use them.
Tim. 'Tis, then, because thou dost not keep a dog
Whom I would imitate. Consumption catch thee!
Apem. This is in thee a nature but infected;
A poor unmanly melancholy, sprung
From change of fortune. Why this spade? this
place?

This slave-like habit? and these looks of care?
Thy flatterers yet wear silk, drink wine, lie soft,
Hug their diseas'd perfumes, and have forgot
That ever Timon was. Shame not these woods,
By putting on the cunning of a carper.
Be thou a flatterer now, and seek to thrive
By that which has undone thee: hinge thy knee,
And let his very breath, whom thou'lt observe,
Blow off thy cap; praise his most vicious strain,
And call it excellent. Thou wast told thus;
Thou gav'st thine ears, like tapsters that bade wel-

Apem. I flatter not, but say thou art a caitiff.
Tim. Why dost thou seek me out?
Apem.

To vex thee.
Tim. Always a villain's office, or a fool's.
Dost please thyself in't?
Apem.
Tim.

Ay.

What! a knave too? Apem. If thou didst put this sour cold habit on To castigate thy pride, 'twere well; but thou Dost it enforcedly: thou'dst courtier be again, Wert thou not beggar. Willing misery Outlives incertain pomp, is crown'd before : The one is filling still, never complete, The other, at high wish: best state, contentless, Hath a distracted and most wretched being, Worse than the worst content.

Thou should'st desire to die, being miserable.

Tim. Not by his breath, that is more miserable. Thou art a slave, whom Fortune's tender arm

With favour never clasp'd, but bred a dog.
Hadst thou, like us, from our first swath, proceeded
The sweet degrees that this brief world affords
To such as may the passive drugges of it
Freely command, thou would'st have plung'd thyself
In general riot; melted down thy youth
In different beds of lust; and never learn'd
The icy precepts of respect, but follow'd
The sugar'd game before thee. But myself,
Who had the world as my confectionary;

The mouths, the tongues, the eyes, and hearts of men
At duty, more than I could frame employment;
That numberless upon me stuck, as leaves
Do on the oak, have with one winter's brush
Fell from their boughs, and left me open, bare
For every storm that blows;-I, to bear this,
That never knew but better, is some burden:
Thy nature did commence in sufferance, time
Hath made thee hard in't. Why should'st thou
hate men?

They never flatter'd thee: what hast thou given?
If thou wilt curse, thy father, that poor rag,
Must be thy subject; who, in spite, put stuff
To some she beggar, and compounded thee
Poor rogue hereditary. Hence! be gone!—
If thou hadst not been born the worst of men,
Thou hadst been a knave, and flatterer.

Apem.

Art thou proud yet? Tim. Ay, that I am not thee.

Apem.

No prodigal.

Tim.

I, that I was

I, that I am one now:

Were all the wealth I have shut up in thee,

I'd give thee leave to hang it.

Get thee gone.—

That the whole life of Athens were in this! Thus would I eat it.

Apem.

[Eating a root. Here; I will mend thy feast. [Offering him something. Tim. First mend my company, take away thyself. Apem. So I shall mend mine own, by the lack of thine.

Tim. 'Tis not well mended so, it is but botch'd; If not, I would it were.

Apem. What would'st thou have to Athens? Tim. Thee thither in a whirlwind. If thou wilt, Tell them there I have gold: look, so I have. Apem. Here is no use for gold.

Tim. The best, and truest; For here it sleeps, and does no hired harm. Apem. Where ly'st o' nights, Timon? Under that's above me. Where feed'st thou o' days, Apemantus?

Tim.

Apem. Where my stomach finds meat; or, rather, where I eat it.

Tim. Would poison were obedient, and knew my mind!

Apem. Where would'st thou send it?
Tim. To sauce thy dishes.

Apem. The middle of humanity thou never knewest, but the extremity of both ends. When thou wast in thy gilt, and thy perfume, they mocked thee for too much curiosity: in thy rags thou knowest none, but art despised for the contrary. There's a medlar for thee; eat it.

Tim. On what I hate, I feed not.
Apem. Dost hate a medlar?

Tim. Ay, though it look like thee.

Apem. An thou hadst hated meddlers sooner, thou should'st have loved thyself better now. What man didst thou ever know unthrift, that was beloved after his means?

Tim. Who, without those means thou talkest of, didst thou ever know beloved? Apem. Myself.

Tim. I understand thee: thou hadst some means to keep a dog.

Apem. What things in the world canst thou nearest compare to thy flatterers?

Tim. Women nearest; but men, men are the things themselves. What would'st thou do with the world, Apemantus, if it lay in thy power?

Apem. Give it to the beasts, to be rid of the men. Tim. Would'st thou have thyself fall in the confusion of men, and remain a beast with the beasts? Apem. Ay, Timon.

Tim. A beastly ambition, which the gods grant thee to attain to. If thou wert the lion, the fox would beguile thee: if thou wert the lamb, the fox would eat thee: if thou wert the fox, the lion would suspect thee, when, peradventure, thou wert accused by the ass: if thou wert the ass, thy dulness would torment thee, and still thou livedst but as a breakfast to the wolf: if thou wert the wolf, thy greediness would afflict thee, and oft thou should'st hazar thy life for thy dinner: wert thou the unicorn, pride and wrath would confound thee, and make thine own self the conquest of thy fury: wert thou a bear, thou would'st be killed by the horse: wert thou a horse, thou would'st be seized by the leopard: wert thou a leopard, thou wert german to the lion, and the spots of thy kindred were jurors on thy life; all thy safety were remotion, and thy defence, absence. What beast could'st thou be, that were not subject to a beast? and what a beast art thou already, that seest not thy loss in transformation.

Apem. If thou could'st please me with speaking to me, thou might'st have hit upon it here: the commonwealth of Athens is become a forest of beasts.

Tim. How has the ass broke the wall, that thou art out of the city?

Apem. Yonder comes a poet, and a painter. The plague of company light upon thee! I will fear to catch it, and give way. When I know not what else to do, I'll see thee again.

Tim. When there is nothing living but thee, thou shalt be welcome. I had rather be a beggar's dog, than Apemantus.

Apem. Thou art the cap of all the fools alive.
Tim. Would thou wert clean enough to spit upon.
Apem. A plague on thee, thou art too bad to curse.
Tim. All villains, that do stand by thee, are pure.
Apem. There is no leprosy but what thou speak'st.
Tim. If I name thee.-

I'll beat thee, but I should infect my hands.
Apem. I would, my tongue could rot them off!
Tim. Away, thou issue of a mangy dog!
Choler does kill me, that thou art alive;
I swoon to see thee.