Imatges de pàgina

The mounds into falt téars. The Earth's a thief
That feeds and breeds by a composture ftol'n (33)
From gen’ral excrements : each thing's a thief;
The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough power
Have uncheck'd theft. Love not yourselves, away,
Rob one another, there's more gold; cut throats;
All that you meet are thieves : to Athens go,
Break open shops, for nothing can you steal
But thieres do lose it: steal not less for what
I give, and gold confound you howsoever ! Amen.

[Exit. 3 Thief. H’as almost charmed me from my proieftion, by períuading me to it.

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Nill the more confirmed, because Mr Warburton, who did not know I had touched the place, lent me up the very same correction. Of the loa thus 'encroaching upon the land, our Author has made mention more than once in his works. Sce 2 Henry IV.

-fce the revolution of the times
Make moun:ains level; and the ciutinent,
Weary of folid firmnefs, melt injilf

Into the sea.
And again in a poem of his called Injurious Time:

When I have seen the hungry ocean gain

Advantage on the kingdom of the fore, And in a play ascribed to him, called Pericles Prince of Tyre,

Thetis, being proud, sivallowed some part o'th' earth. It may not be airils to obserye, that in all the editions of this play, except one old Quarto printed in 1609, the name of Thetis is loft, and nonfen lically corrupted into these two words :

That is, being proud, &c. (35)

-hy a composure fiorn Froin general excrement :] I have restored from the old editions, composture; and there is no doubt but that was our Author's word here. For he is speaking of thai artificial dung, called comport. So Hanlet, Act 3.

And do not fpread the campo on ihe weeds,
To make them ranker,

Act 4.

1 Thief. 'Tis in the malice of mankind that he thus advises us, not to have us thrive in our mystery.

2 Thief. I'll believe him as an enemy, and give o'er my trade.

i Thief. Let us first fee peace in Athens. (36)

2 Thief. There is no time so miserable but a man may be true.



SCENE, the Woods, and Timon's Cave.



OH, ye gods !

Is yon despised and ruinous man my Lord? Full of decay and failing! oh, monument And wonder of good deeds, evilly bestowed ! What change of honour delp'rate want has made ! What viler thing upon the earth, than friends Who can bring nobleit minds to bafest ends ! How rarely does it meet with this time's guise, When man was wish'd to love his enemies ! Grant I may ever love, and rather woo Those that would mischief me, than those that do! H’as caught me in his eye, I will present My honest grief to him, and, as my Lord, Still serve hiin with my life. My deareft master!

(36) · Thief. Let us for fie peace in Athens, &c.] This and the concluding little speech have in all the editions been placed to one speaker : but, as Mr Warburton very justly observed to me, 'tis evident the latter words ought to be put in the mouth of the firft thief, who is for rcpenting, and leaving off bis trade.

TIMón comes forward from his Cave.
Tim. Away! what art thou ?
Flav. Have you forgot me, Sir?

Tim. Why doft ask that? I have forgot all men.
Then if thou grantest that thou' art a man,
I have forgot thee.

Flav. An honest servant,--

Tim. Then I know thee not :
I ne'er had honest man about me, all
I kept were knaves, to serve in meat to villains.

Flav. The gods are witness,
Ne’er did poor steward wear a truer grief
For his undone Lord than mine


yoni, Tim. What, dost thou weep? come nearer,

then I love thee, Because thou art a woman, and disclaimest Flinty mankind, whose


do never give But or through lust or laughter, Pity's sleeping; Strange times ! that weep with laughing, not with

Flav. I beg of you to know me, good my Lord,
T'accept my grief, and, whilst this poor wealth lafts,
To entertain me as your steward still.

Tim. Had I a Iteward
So true, so juft, and now so comfortable?
It almost turns my dangerous nature wild.---
Let me behold thy face: surely this man
Was born of woman.
Forgive' my gen'ral and exceptless rashness,
Perpetual, fober gods! I do proclaim
One honest man ; mistake me not, but one;
No more, I pray; and he's a steward.
How fain would I have hated all mankind,
And thou redeemeft thyself! but all, fave thee,
I fell with curses.

Methinks thou art more honest now than wife;
For, by oppresling and betraying me,
Thou mightest have sooner got another service:

many so arrive at second masters,
Upon their first Lord's neck. But tell me true,
(For I must ever doubt, though never so sure)
is not thy kindness subtle, covetous,
A usuring kindness, as rich men deal gifts,
Expecting in return twenty for one.

Flav. No, my most worthy master, (in whose breast
Doubt and fuípect, alas, are placed too late)
You should have feared false times when you did
Suspect still comes where an estate is lealt. [feast;
That which I shew, Heaven knows, is merely love,
Duty, and zeal to your unmatched mind,
Care of your food and living; and, believe it,

benefit that points to me
Either in hope, or present, I'd exchange
For this one wish, that


power and wealth To requite me by making rich yourself.

Tim. Look thee, 'tis fo; thou fingly honest man,
Here, take; the gods out of my milery
Have fent thee treasure. Go, live rich and happy:
But thus conditioned, Thou shalt build from men;
Hate all, curse all, shew charity to none;
But let the familhed flesh slide from the bone,
Ere thou relieve the beggar. Give to dogs
What thou deniest to men. Let prisons swallow 'em,
Debts wither’em; be men like blasted woods,
And may diseases lick up their false bloods !
And so farewel, and thrive.
Flav. O, let me stay, and comfort you, my

Tim. If thou hatest curses,
Stay not, but fly whilit thou art bless’d and free;
Ne'er see thou man, and let me ne'er see thee.

[Exeunt sevurally. VOL. X.


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Enter Poet and Painter. Pain. As I took note of the place, it can't be fas where he abides.

Poet. What's to be thought of him? does the Tumour hold for true, that he's fo full of gold?

Pain. Certain. Alcibiades reports-it: Phrynia and Timandra had gold of him: he likewise en riched poor straggling soldiers with great quantity. 'Tis said he gave his Iteward a mighty sum.

Poet. Then this breaking of his has been but a trial for' his friends.

Pain. Nothing else: you shall see him a palm in Athens again, and flourish with the highest. Therefore 'tis not amiss we tender our loves to him in this supposed distrefs.of his : it will shew honestly in us, and is very likely to load our purposes with what they travel for, if it be a true and just report that goes of his having.

Poet. What have you now to present unto him?

Pain. Nothing at this time but my vifitation ; only I will promise him an excellent piece.

Poet. I must ferve him fo too; tell him of an indent that's coming toward him.

Pain. Good as the best. Promising is the very air o'th' time; it opens the eyes of expectation. Performance is ever the duller for his act, and, but in the plainer and simpler kind of people, the deed is quite out of use. To promise is most courtly and fashionable ; performance is a kind of will or testament, which argues a great sickness in his judgment that makes it.

Re-enter TIMON from his Cave, unseen. Tim. Excellent workman! thou canst not paint a man so bad as thyself.

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