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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 yove
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 matron,
It is her habit only that is honest,
Hersell's a bawd. Let not the virgin's cheek
Make soft thy trenchant sword; for those milk-paps,
That through the window-lawn bore at mens eyes, (25:)
Are not within the leaf of pity writ;
Set them down horrible traitors. Spare not the babe,
Whose dimpled smiles froni fools exhaust their mercy ś
Think it a bastard, whom the oracle
Hath doubtfully pronounc'd thy throat shall cut,
And mince it fans remorse. Swear against objects,
Put armour on thine ears, and on thine eyes ;
Whose proof, nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes,
(25) That thro' the window-barn bore at men's eyes.] I cannot for
my beart imagine, what idea our wise editors had of a virgin's breast
thro’a windoru-barn : which, I am fatisfied, must be a corrupt read-
ing. In short, the poet is alluding to the decent custom in his time
of the women covering their necks and bosom either with Lawn, or
Cyprus; both which being transparent, the poet beautifully calls is
Vid. Twelfth-night, Aft 3:---to one of your receiving
Enough is shewn; a Cyprus, not a bosom,
Hides my poor heart.
Beaumont and Fletcher in their Scornful Lady.
Lady. Pray puť in good word; then.
El. Love. The worlt are good enough for such a trifle, such-a proud
piece of cobweb-lawn.
B. Junfon in his Sejanus, spoken by Agrippina.
Were all Tiberius' body stuck with eyes,
And ev'ry wall and hanging in my houfe
Tran parent as this Lawn I wear.
And in his Every Man out of bis Humour.
-She speaks, as she goes tir'd, in cobweb-laun, light thin:
And in bis Every Man in bis Humour.
--and ßadow her glory as a mijliner's wife does her wrought
Jomacher with a smoaky Lawn, or a black Cyprus,
Nor sight of prieit in holy vestments bleeding,
Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay thy soldiers.
Make large confusion; and thy fury 1pent,
Confounded be thyself! Speak not, be gone,
Alc. Haft thou gold yet?
I'll take the gold thou giv'st me, not thy counsel.
Tim. Dost thou,ordost thou not, heav'n's curse upon thee!
Both. Give us fome gold, good Timon : haft thou more?
Tim. Enough to make a whore forswear her trade,
And to make whole a bawd. (26) Hold up, you sluts,
Your aprons mountant; you're not othable,
Although, I know, you'll swear, terribly swear
Into strong shudders, and to heav'nly agues,
Th' immortal gods that hear you. Spare your oaths:
l'll trust to your conditions, be whores ftill.
And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you,
Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up.
Let your close fire predominate his smoak,
And be no turn-coats: yet may your pains six months
Be quite contrary. Make false hair, and thatch
Your poor thin roofs with burdens of the dead,
(Some that were hang'd, no matter :-)
Wear them, betray with them; and whore on still,
Paint till a horse
face; -A pox of wrinkles !
Both. Well, more gold—what then?
Believe, that we'll do any thing for gold.
Tim. Consumptions fow
In hollow bones of man, strike their sharp fhins,
And mar mens spurring. Crack the lawyer's voice,
(26) And to make a whore a bawd.] The power of gold, indeed, may be suppos'd great, that can make a whore forsake her trade; but what mighty difficulty was there in making a whore turn bawd? And yet, 'tis plain, here he is describing the mighty power of goid. He had before shewn, how gold can persuade to any villainy; he now thews that it has still a greater force, and can even turn from vice to the practice, or, at least, the semblance of virtue. We must there. fore read, to restore fenfe to our author,
And to make whole a bawd.i.e. not only make her quit her calling, but thereby restore her to reputation.
That he may never more false title plead,
Nor sound his quillets thrilly. Hoar the Flamen,
That scolds against the quality of flesh,
And not believes himself. Down with the nose,
Down with it fiat; take the bridge quite away
Of him, that his particular to foresee
Smells from the gen’ral weal. Make curl’d-pate ruffians
And let the unscarr'd braggarts of the war
Derive some pain from you. Plague alt;
That your activity may defeat, and quell
The source of all erection.-There's more gold.
you damn others, and let this damn you, And ditches grave you all!
Both. More counsel with more money, bounteous Timon. Tim. More whore, more mischief, first ; I've given you
earneft. Alc. Strike
the drum tow'rds Athens; farewel, Timon : If I thrive well, I'll visit thee again.
Tim. If I hope well, I'll never see thee more.
Alc. I never did thee harm.
Tim. Yes, thou spok'it well of me.
Alc. Callift thou that harm?
Tim. Men daily find it. Get thee Hence, away;
And take thy beagles with thee.
Alc. We but offend him : ftrike,
[Exeunt Alcibiad. Phryn, and Timand.
Tim. That nature, being sick of man's unkindness,
Should yet be hungry! Common mother, thou
Whose womb unmeasurable, and infinite breast
Teems, and feeds all; oh thou! whose felf-fame mettle
(Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is puft)
Enger:ders the black toad, and adder blue,
The gilded newt, and eyeless venom'd worm;
With all th' abhorred births below crisp heav'n,
Whereon Hyperion's quick’ning fire doth shine;
Yield him, who all thy human fons does hate,
From forth thy plenteous bofom, one poor root!
Enfear thy fertise and conceptious womb;
Let it no more bring out ingrateful man.
Go great with tygers, dragons, wolves and bears,
Teem with new monsters, whom thy upward face
Hath to the marbled manfion all above
Never presented—0, a root-dear thanks!
Dry up thy marrows, veins, and plough-torn leas, (27)
Whereof ingrateful man with liqu’rith draughts,
And morsels unctious, greates his poor mind,
That from it all consideration slips.-
More man? plague, plague!“
-pem. I was directed hither. Men report, Thou doft ailect my manners, and doit use them.
Tim. 'Tis then, because thou doit not keep a dog Whom I would imitate ; consumption catch thee !
ripem. This is in thee a nature but affecied, A poor unmanly melancholy, sprung From change of fortune. Why this spade? this place ? This flave-like habit, and these looks of care ? Thy flatt'rers yet wear filk, drink wine, lye soft ; Hug their diseas'd perfumes, and have forgot That ever Timon was. Shame not these weeds, (28)
(27) Dry up thy marrows, veins, and plough-torn leas.] Mr. War. burton thinks, the uniformity of the metaphor requires that we shoul read,
Dry up thy harrow'd veins, and plough-torn leas. 'Tis certain, the verse is rendered much more beautiful by this reading ; but as, unɛtisus morsels following, by marrows the poet might mean what we call the fát of the land, I have not ventured to iniert the conjecture into the text.
(28) Shame not these woods,] But how did Timon any more shame the woods by. afluming the character of a cynick, than Apemantus did? The poet certainly meant to make Apementus say, Don't disgrace this garb, "which thou hast only affected tò assume ; and to seem the creature thou art not by nature, but by the force and compulsion of poverty. We must tirerefore restore,
-Skame not these weeds. Apemantus ist fereral other passages of the scene reproaches him with his change of garb.
--Why tbis spade ? ibis place?
This pave-like habit?
----Do not asume 12y likeness.
If thou did?It put this lower cola habia on
By putting on the cunning of a carper.
Be thou a flatt'rer now, and seek to thrive
By that which has undone thee; hinge thy knee,
And let his very br_ath whom thou'lt observe
Blow off thy cap; praise his most vicious strain,
And call it excellent. Thou wast told thus :
Thou gav'it thine ears, like tapiters, that bid welcome
To knaves, and all approachers : 'Tis most just
Thatthou turn rascal : hadît thou wealth again,
Rascals should have't. Do not assume my likeness.
Timn. Were I like thee, I'd throw away myself.
Apem. Thou't caft away thyself, being like thyself,
So long a madman, now a fool. What, think’t thou,
That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain,
Will put thy shirt on warm ? will these moist trees
That have out-liv’d the eagle, page thy heels,
And skip when thou point'it out? will the cold brook,
Candied with ice, cawdle thy inorning taste
To-eure thy o'er-night's surfeit? Call the creatures,
Whose naked natures live in all the spight
Of wreakful heav'n, whose bare unhoused trunks,
To the conflicting clements expos'd,
Answer mere nature;. bid them flatter thee;
Oh! thou shalt find-
Tim. A fool of thee; depart.
Apen. I love thee better now, than e'er' I did.
Tim. I hate thee worse.
Tim. Thou flatt'rest misery.
Apem. I fatter 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.
Doft please thyself in't? (29)
To castigate thy pride, 'twere well; but thou
Do't it enforcedly : thou'dft courtier be,
Wert thou not beggar.
Mr, Warburten, (29) Tim. Always a villain's office, or a fool's.
Doft please byself in't ? Apem, Ay,