Imatges de pàgina
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For

you ferve knaves.

[Exit.

Var. How! what does his cashier'd worship mutter? Tit. No matter, what, he's poor, and that's revenge enough. Who can speak broader than he that has no houfe to put his head in? Such may rail against great buildings.

Enter Servilius.

Tit. Oh, here's Servilius; now we shall have some answer. Ser. If I might befeech you, gentlemen, to repair fome other hour, I fhould derive much from it. For take it of my foul,

My Lord leans wond'roufly to difcontent:

His comfortable temper has forfook him,

He is much out of health, and keeps his chamber.
Luc. Many do keep their chambers,

And if he be fo far beyond his health,

are not fick :

Methinks, he should the fooner pay his debts,
And make a clear way to the gods.

Ser. Good gods!

Tit. We cannot take this for an answer.

Flam. [within.] Servilius, help-my Lord! my Lord.

Enter Timon, in a rage.

Tim. What, are my doors oppos'd against my paffage? Have I been ever free, and must my house

Be my retentive enemy, my goal?

The place, which I have feafted, does it now,
Like all mankind, fhew me an iron heart?

Luc. Put in now, Titus.

Tit. My Lord, here's my bill.

Luc. Here's mine.

Var. And mine, my Lord.

Cap. And ours, my Lord!

Phi. And our bills.

Tim. Knock me down with 'em--cleave me to the girdle.

Luc. Alas, my Lord.

Tim. Cut out my heart in fums.

Tit. Mine, fifty talents.

Tim. Tell out my blood.

Luc.

Luc. Five thousand crowns, my Lord. Tim. Five thousand drops pay that. What yours and yours?

Var. My Lord

Cap. My Lord

Tim. Here tear me, take me, and the gods fall on you.

[Exit. Hor. Faith, I perceive, our mafters may throw their caps at their money; thefe debts may be well call'd defperate ones, for a madman owes 'em.

Re-enter Timon and Flavius.

[Exeunt.

Tim. They have c'en put my breath from me, the flaves. Creditors!-devils.

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Tim. I'll have it fo-My fteward!

Flav. Here, my Lord.

Tin. So fitly!-Go, bid all my friends again, Lucius, Lucullus, and Sempronius. All.

I'll once more feaft the rafcals.

Flav. O my Lord!

You only fpeak from your diftracted foul;
There's not fo much left as to furnish out
A moderate table.

Tim. Be it not thy care:

Go, and invite them all, let in the tide

Of knaves once more: my cook and I'll provide.

[Exeunt.

SCENE changes to the Senate-house.

Senators, and Alcibiades.

1 Sen. MY Lord, you have my voice to't, the fault's

'Tis neceffary he should die:

Nothing emboldens fin fo much as mercy.

[bloody;

2 Sen. Moft true; the law fhall bruise 'em. Alc. Health, honour, and compaffion to the fenate! 1 Sen. Now, captain.

Alc.

virtues:

Alc. I am an humble fuitor to your
For pity is the virtue of the law,
And none but tyrants use it cruelly.
It pleases time and fortune to lie heavy
Upon a friend of mine, who in hot blood
Hath ftept into the law, which is past depth
To thofe that without heed do plunge into't.
He is a man, fetting his fault afide,

Of virtuous honour, which buys out his fault;
Nor did he foil the fact with cowardife,
But with a noble fury, and fair spirit,
Seeing his reputation touch'd to death,
He did oppofe his foe:

And with fuch fober and unnoted paffion
He did behave his anger ere 'twas spent,
As if he had but prov'd an argument.

1 Sen. You undergo too ftrict a paradox, Striving to make an ugly deed look fair:

Your words have took fuch pains, as if they labour'd
To bring man-flaughter into form, fet quarrelling
Upon the head of valour; which, indeed,

Is valour mif-begot, and came into the world
When fects and factions were but newly born.
He's truly valiant, that can wifely suffer

The worst that man can breathe, and make his wrongs
His out-fide, wear them like his raiment, careleЛly,
And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart,

To bring it into danger.

If wrongs be evils, and inforce us kill,
What folly 'tis to hazard life for ill?

Alc. My Lord,

1 Sen. You cannot make grofs fins look clear, It is not valour to revenge, but bear.

Alc. My Lords, then, under favour, pardon me,

If I fpeak like a captain.

Why do fond men expofe themselves to battle,
And not endure all threatnings, fleep upon't,
And let the foes quietly cut their throats,
Without repugnancy? but if there be
Such valour in the bearing, what make we

Abroad?

Abroad? why then, fure, women are more valiant,
That stay at home, if bearing carry it;
The ass, more than the lion; and the fellow,
Loaden with irons, wifer than the judge;
If wisdom be in fuff'ring. Oh my Lords,
As you are great, be pitifully good:
Who cannot condemn rashness in cold blood?
To kill, I grant, is fin's extreamest guft,
But, in defence,-by mercy, 'tis moft juft.
To be in anger is impiety:

But who is man, that is not angry?
Weigh but the crime with this.

2 Sen. You breathe in vain.
Alc. In vain his fervice done

At Lacedæmon, and Byzantium,
Were a fufficient briber for his life.

1 Sen. What's that?

Alc. I fay, my Lords, h'as done fair fervice,
And flain in battle many of your enemies;
How full of valour did he bear himself
In the last conflict, and made plenteous wounds?
2 Sen. He has made too much plenty with 'em,
He's a fworn rioter; he has a fin

That often drowns him, and takes valour prifoner.
Were there no foes, that were enough alone
To overcome him. In that beastly fury
He has been known to commit outrages,
And cherish factions. 'Tis inferr'd to us,
His days are foul, and his drink dangerous..
1 Sen. He dies.

Alc. Hard fate! he might have died in war.
My Lords, if not for any parts in him,
(Though his right arm might purchafe his own time,
And be in debt to none ;) yet more to move you,
Take my deferts to his, and join 'em both.
And for I know, your reverend ages love.
Security, I'll pawn my victories,

My honours to you, on his good returns.
If by this crime he owes the law his life,
Why, let the war receive't in valiant gore;

For

For law is ftrict, and war is nothing more.

1 Sen. We are for law, he dies, urge it no more,
On height of our displeasure: friend, or brother,
He forfeits his own blood, that fpils another.
Alc. Muft it be fo? it must not be:

My Lords, I do befeech you, know me.

2 Sen. How?

Alc. Call me to your remembrances.

3 Sen. What!

Alc. I cannot think, but your age hath forgot me; It could not elfe be, I fhould prove so base,

To fue, and be deny'd fuch common grace.

My wounds ake at you.

1 Sen. Do you dare our anger?

'Tis in few words, but fpacious in effect; We banish thee for ever.

Alc. Banish me!

Banish your dotage, banish ufury,

That make the fenate ugly.

1 Sen. If, after two days fhine, Athens contains thee, Attend our weightier judgment.

And, (not to fwell our fpirit,)
He fhall be executed presently.

[Exeunt.

Alc. Gods keep you old enough, that you may live

Only in bone, that none may look on you!

I'm worse than mad: I have kept back their foes,
While they have told their money, and let out
Their coin upon large intereft; I myself,
Rich only in large hurts. All thofe, for this?
Is this the balfam that the ufuring fenate
Pours into captains wounds? ha! banishment?
It comes not ill: I hate not to be banisht,
It is a caufe worthy my fpleen and fury,
That I may ftrike at Athens. I'll cheer up
My difcontented troops, and lay for hearts.
'Tis honour with moft lands to be at odds;
Soldiers as little fhould brook wrongs, as gods. [Exit.

SCENE

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