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Enter a Soldier.
Sold. My noble general, Timon is dead; Entomb'd upon the very hem o'the sea: And, on his grave-stone, this insculpture; which With wax I brought away, whose soft impression Interprets for my poor ignorance. Alcib. [Reads.] Here lies a wretched corse, of wretched soul bereft: Seek not my name: A plague consume you wicked
caitiffs left! Here lie I Timon; who, alive, all living men did hate: Pass by, and curse thy fill; but pass, and stay not
here thy gait. These well express in thee thy latter spirits: Though thou abhorr'dst in us our human griefs, Scorn'dst our brain's flow,7 and those our droplets
which From niggard nature fall, yet rich conceit Taught thee to make vast Neptune weep for aye On thy low grave, on faults forgiven. Dead Is noble Timon; of whose memory Hereafter more.—Bring me into your city, And I will use the olive with my sword: Make war breed peace; make peace stint war; make each Prescribe to other, as each other's leech.8 Let our drums strike. [Exeunt.9
7 our brain's flow,'] Our brains flaw is our tears.
* leech.] i. e. physician.
9 The play of Timon is a domestick tragedy, and therefore strongly fastens on the attention of the reader. In the plan there is not much art, but the incidents are natural, and the characters various and exact. The catastrophe affords a very powerful warning against that ostentatious liberality, which scatters bounty, but confers no benefits, and buys flattery, but not friendship.
VOL. VIII. I