Timan. Hang thee, monster!

Alc. Pardon him, fweet Timandra, for his wits
Are drown'd and loft in his calamities.

I have but little gold of late, brave Timon,
The want whereof doth daily make revolt
In my penurious band. I heard and griev❜d,
How curled Athens, mindlefs of thy worth,
Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbour states,
But for thy fword and fortune, trod upon them-
Tim. I pr'ythee, beat thy drum, and get thee gone.
Alc. I am thy friend, and pity thee, dear Timon.
Tim. How dot thou pity him, whom thou dost trouble?
l'ad rather be alone.

Alc. Why, fare thee well,

Here's gold for thee.

Tim. Keep it, I cannot eat it.

Alc. When I have laid proud Athens on a heap-
Tim. Warr'ft thou 'gainst Athens?

Alc. Ay, Timon, and have caufe.

Tim. The gods confound them all then in thy conqueft, And, after, thee, when thou hast conquered ! Alc. Why me, Timon?

leaft, in the other, he should take cold, which was fatal.

"The

regimen for the courfe of Guaiacum (fays Dr. Friend in his bift. of phyfick, Vol. 2. p. 380.) was at firft ftrangely circumftantial; and "to rigorous, that the patient was put into a dungeon in order to "make him fweat; and in that manner, as Fallopius exprefles it, "the bones and the very man himself was macerated." And as for the unction, it was fometimes continued for thirty-feven days; (as he obferves, p. 375) and during this time there was neceffarily an extraordinary abflinence requir'd. Mr. Warburton.

Shakespeare himself, I remember, in another of his plays, alludes to the custom of this tub difcipline.

Meaf for Meaf. Act 3. where the clown is fpeaking of the bawd; Troth, Sir, the hath eaten up all her beef, and fhe is herself in the tub. And Beaumont and Fletcher in the Knight of the Burning Pefile; Prifners of mine, whom I in diet keep,

Send lower down into the cave,

And in a tub, that's heated fmoaking hot,
There may they find them, &c.

And afterwards, in the fame play, fome of these pin'd prifoners are produc'd, complaining of their tub-fweat, and spare-diet. But enough of thefe unfavoury proofs.

Tim. That by killing of villains

Thou waft 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 fome high-vic'd city hang his paifon
In the fick air: Let not thy fword skip one,
Pity not honour'd age for his white beard,
He is an ufurer. Strike me the matron,
It is her habit only that is honest,

Herfelf's a bawd. Let not the virgin's cheek
Make foft thy trenchant fword; 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,
Whofe dimpled fmiles from fools exhauft their mercy;
Think it a baftard, whom the oracle

Hath doubtfully pronounc'd thy throat fhall cut,
And mince it fans remorfe. Swear against objects,
Put armour on thine ears, and on thine eyes;
Whofe proof, nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes,

(25) That thro' the window-barn bore at men's eyes.] I cannot for my heart imagine, what idea our wife editors had of a virgin's breast thro' a window-barn: which, I am fatisfied, muft be a corrupt reading. In short, the poet is alluding to the decent cuftom in his time of the women covering their necks and bofom either with Lawn, or Cyprus; both which being tranfparent, the poet beautifully calls it the window-lawn.

Vid. Twelfthnight, A& 3. -to one of your receiving

Enough is fhewn; a Cyprus, not a bosom,

Hides my poor heart.

Beaumont and Fletcher in their Scornful Lady.

Lady. Pray, put in good words then.

El. Love. The worst are good enough for such a trifle, fuch a proud piece of cobweb-lawn.

B. Jorfon in his Sejanus, ipoken by Agrippina.
Were all Tiberius' body fuck with eyes,
And ev'ry wall and hanging in my house
Tranfparent as this Lawn I wear.

And in his Every Man out of bis Humour.

She fpeaks, as he goes tir'd, in cobweb-lawn, light thin:

And in his Every Man in his Humour.

and fhadow her glory as a milliner's wife does her wrought

famacher with a fmoaky Lawn, or a black Cyprus.

H 3

Nor

Nor fight of priest in holy veftments bleeding,
Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay thy foldiers.
Make large confufion; and thy fury spent,
Confounded be thyfelf! Speak not, be gone.
Alc. Haft thou gold yet?

I'll take the gold thou giv'ft me, not thy counfel.
Tim.Doft thou,ordoft thou not, heav'n's curfe upon thee!
Both. Give us fome gold, good Timon: haft thou more?
Tim. Enough to make a whore forfwear 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 fwear; terribly fwear
Into ftrong fhudders, and to heavenly agues,
Th' immortal gods that hear you. Spare your oaths:
I'll truft to your conditions, be whores ftill.
And he whofe pious breath feeks to convert you,
Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up.
Let your clofe fire predominate his fmoak,

And be no turn-coats: yet may your pains fix months
Be quite contrary. Make falfe 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 ftill.
Paint till a horfe may mire upon your face;

A pox of wrinkles!

Both. Well, more gold-what then? Believe, that we'll do any thing for gold. Tim. Confumptions fow

In hollow bones of man, ftrike their fharp fhins, And mar mens fpurring. Crack the lawyer's voice,

(26) And to make a whore a bard.] The power of gold, indeed, may be fuppos'd great, that can make a whore forfake her trade; but what mighty difficulty was there in making a whore turn bawd? And yet, 'tis plain, here he is defcribing the mighty power of gold. He had before fhewn, how gold can perfuade to any villany; he now fhews that it has ftill a greater force, and can ever turn from vice to the practice, or, at leaft, the femblance of virtue. We must therefore read, to reftore fenfe to our author,

And to make whole a barod.

i. e. not only make her quit her calling, but thereby restore her to

reputation.

Mr. Warburton.

That

That he may never more false title plead,
Nor found his quillets fhrilly. Hoar the Flamen,
That fcolds against the quality of flesh,

[bald, 1-pate ruffians

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 gen'ral weal. Make curl'd-
And let the unfcarr'd braggarts of the war
Derive fome pain from you. Plague all;
That your activity may defeat, and quell
The fource of all erection.-There's more gold.
Do
you damn others, and let this damn you,
And ditches grave you all!

Both. More counfel with more money, bounteous Timon.
Tim. More whore, more mifchief, firft; I've given you

earnest.

Akc. Strike up the drum tow'rds Athens; farewel, Timon: If I thrive well, I'll vifit thee again.

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

Alc. I never did thee harm.

Tim. Yes, thou fpok'ft well of me.

Alc. Call'st thou that harm?

Tim. Men daily find it.

Get thee hence, away,

And take thy beagles with thee.

Alc. We but offend him: strike.

[Exeunt Alcibiad. Phryn. and Timand.

Tim. That nature, being fick of man's unkindness, Should yet be hungry! common mother, thou

Whofe womb unmeafurable, and infinite breaft
Teems, and feeds all; oh thou! whofe felf-fame mettle
(Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is puft)
Engenders the black toad, and adder blue,
The gilded newt, and eyelefs venom'd worm;
With all th' abhorred births below crifp heav'n,
Whereon Hyperion's quickning fire doth shine;
Yield him, who all thy human fons does hate,
From forth thy plenteous bofom, one poor root!
Enfear thy fertile and conceptious womb;
Let it no more bring out ingrateful man.
Go great with tygers, dragons, wolves and bears,

H 4

Teema

Teem with new monfters, whom thy upward face
Hath to the marbled manfion all above

Never prefented-O, a root-dear thanks!

Dry up thy marrows, veins, and plough-torn leas, (27)
Whereof ingrateful man with liqu'rith draughts,
And morfels unctious, greafes his pure mind,
That from it all confideration flips.-

Enter Apemantus.

More man? plague, plague!

Apem. I was directed hither. Men report,
Thou doft affect my manners, and doft ufe them.
Tim. "Tis then, becaufe thou doft not keep a dog
Whom I would imitate; confumption catch thee!
Apem. This is in thee a nature but affected,
A poor unmanly melancholy, fprung

From change of fortune. Why this fpade? this place?
This flave-like habit, and thefe looks of care?
Thy flatt'rers yet wear filk, drink wine, lye foft;
Hug their difeas'd perfumes, and have forgot
That ever Timon was. Shame not these weeds, (28)
By

(27) Dry up thy marrows, veins, and plough-torn leas.] Mr. Warburton thinks, the uniformity of the metaphor requires that we should read,

Dry up thy harrow'd veins, and plough-torn leas.

'Tis certain, the verfe is render'd much more beautiful by this reading; but as, unctious morfels following, by marrows the poet might mean what we call the fat of the land, I have not ventur'd to insert the conjecture into the text.

(28) Shame not thefe woods,] But how did Timon any more shame the woods by affuming the character of a cynick, than Apemantus did ? The poet certainly meant to make Apemantus fay, don't difgrace this garb, which thou haft only affected to affume; and to feem the creature thou art not by nature, but by the force and compulfion of poverty. We must therefore reftore,

-

-Shame not thefe weeds.

Apemantus in feveral other paffages of the scene reproaches him with his change of garb.

-Why this spade? this place?

This flave-like habit?

-Do not affume my likeness.

If thou did't put this fower cold babit on

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