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Whose proof, nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes,
Nor fight of priests in holy vestments bleeding,
Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay thy soldiers.
Make large confusion; and thy fury spent,
Confounded be thy self ! Speak not, be gone.
Alc. Haft thou gold yet ?
I'll take the gold thou giv'ft me, not thy counsel.
Tim. Dost thou, or dost thou not, heav'n's curse upon thee!
Borb. Give us some gold, good Timon : halt thou more?
Tim. Enough to make a whore forfwear her trade,
And to make whores abundant. Hold up, you Nuts,
Your aprons mountant ; your not oathable,
Although I know you'll swear, terribly swear
Into strong sudders and to heavenly agues
Th’immortal Gods that hear you. Spare your oaths :
I'll truft to your conditions, be whores ftill.
And he whole 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 exterior
Be quite contrary; make false hair, and thatch
Your poor thin roofs with burtbens of the dead,
Some that were haag'd, no matter :
Wear them, betray with them; and whore on ftill.
Paint till a horse may mire upon your face ;
A pox of wrinkles !
Botb. Well, more gold what then ?
Believe that we'll do any thing for gold.
Tim. Consumptions fow
In hollow bones of man, Atrike their sharp shins,
And mar mens sparring. Crack the lawyer's voice,
That he may never more false title plead,
Nor sound his quillets Thrilly. Hoar the Flamen,
That scolds against the quality of Aesh,
And not believes himself. Down with the nose,
Down with it flat, take the bridge quite away
Of him, that his particular to forsee
Smells from the gen'ral weal. Make curl'd-pate ruffiang
Quite bald, and let the unscart'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 gola.
Do you damn others, and let this damn you,
And ditches grave you all !
Both. More counfel with more mony, bounteous Timon,
Tim. More whore, more mischief first ; I've given you.
Alc. Strike up the drum tow'rds. Arbens ; 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’st well of me.
Alc. Call’At 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 Alcib. Phrynia and Timandrá..
Tim. That Nature being fick of man's unkindness
Should yet be hungry! Common mother, thou
Whose womb unmeasurable, and infinite breast
Teems, and feeds all ; oh thou ! whose self-fame mettle
Whereof thy proud child arrogant man is puft,
Engenders the black toad and adder blue,
gilded newt, and eyeless venom'd worm
With all th’abhorred births below crisp heav'n
Whereon Hyperion's quickning fire doth shine ;
Yield him, who all thy human fons do's hate,
From forth thy plenteous bosom, one poor root!
Then sear thy fertile 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 mansion all above
Never presented — 0, a root-dear thanks!
Dry up thy meadows, vineyards, plough-torn leas,
Whereof ingrateful man with liqu’rish draughts,
And morsels unctious, greases his pure mind,
That from it all consideration Nips
SCENE VI. Enter Apemantus. More man ? plague, plague !
Aper. I was directed hithet. Men report Thou dost affect my manners, and doft use them.
Tim. 'Tis then because thou doft not keep a dog Whom I would imitate ; consumption catch thee!
Aper. This is in thee a nature but affected, A poor unmanly melancholy, sprung From change of fortune. Why this spade ? this place ? This Nave-like habit, and these looks of care ? Thy flatt'rers yet wear Glk, drink wine, lye soft, Hug their diseas'd perfumes, and have forgot That ever Timon was. Shame not these weeds, By putting on the cunning of a carper. Be thou a flate'rer now, and seek to thrive By that which has undone thee ; hinge thy knee, And let his very breath whom thou'lt observe Blow off thy cap; praise his most vicious strain, And cali it excellent. Thou wast told thus: Thou gav'st thine ears, like tapsters, that bid welcome To knaves, and all appreachers : 'Tis most just That thou turn rascal : hadit thou wealth again, Rascals should hav't. Do not assume
likeness. Tim. Were I like thee, I'd throw away my self.
Apem. Thou’aft cast away thyself, being like thy felf,
So long a mad-man, now a fool. What, think'At thou
That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain,
Will put thy shirt on warm ? will these moss'd trees
That have out-liv'd the eagle, page thy heels,
And skip when thou point's out? will the cold brook,
Candied with ice, cawdle thy morning taste
To cure 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 elements exposid,
Answer meer nature; bid them flatter thee ;
Oh! thou shalt find
Tim. A fool of thee ; depart.
Apem. I love thee better now than e'er I did.
Tim, I hate thee worse : thou datter't misery.
Apem. I Aatter not, but say thou art a caytiff.
Tim. Why dost thou seek me out ?
Apem. Only to vex thee.
Tim. Always a villain's office, or a fool's.
Doft please thy self in't ?
Tim. What a knave thou !
Apem. If thou didft put this sowre cold habit on
To caftigate thy pride, 'twere well ; but thou
Dost it enforcedly : thou’dst courtier be
Wert thou not beggar. Willing misery
Out-strips incertain pomp, is crown'd before it :
The one is filling still, never compleat ;
The other, at high wish : Best Itates, contentless,
Have a distracted and most wretched being,
Worse than the worst, content.
Thou shouldst desire to die, being miserable.
Tim. Not by his breath, that is more miserable.
Thou art a Nave, whom fortune's tender arm
With favour never claspt ; bred but a dog.
Hadft thou, like us from our first swath proceeded
Through sweet degrees that this brief world affords
To such as may the passive drugs of it
Freely command ; thou wouldst have plung'd thy self
In general riot, melted down thy youth
In different beds of luft, and never learn'd
The icy precepts of respect, but followed
The sugar'd game before thee. But my self,
Who had the world as my confectionary,
The mouths, the tongues, the eyes, the hearts of men
At duty more than I could frame employments;
That numberless upon me stuck, as leaves
Do on the oak; yet with one winter's brush
Fall’n from their boughs, have left me open, bare
For every storm that blows ; I to bear this,
That never knew but better, is some burthen.
Thy nature did commence in suff'rance, time
Hath made thee hard in't. Why should'At thou hate men ?
They neyer filatter'd thee. What halt thou given?
If thou wilt curse, thy father that poot rag
Must be thy subject, who in spight put ftuff
To lome the-beggar, and compounded thee
Poor rogue hereditary. Hence! be gone
If thou hadît not been born the worst of men,
Thou hadft been knave and Aatterer.
Apem. Art thou proud yet?
Tim. Ay, that I am not thee.
Apem. I, that I was no prodigal.
Tim. I, that I am one now:
Were all the wealth I bave, shut op in thee,
I'd give thee leave to hang it. Get thee gone -
That the whole life of Abens were in this !
Thus would I eat it. *
[Eating a roor. Apem. What wouldst thou have to Arbens?
Tim. Thee thither in a whirlwind ; if thou wilt,
Tell them there I have gold ; look, so I have.
Here is no use for gold.
Tim. The best and truert :
For here it leeps, and does no hired harm.
Apem. Where ly'st a-nights, Timon ?
Tim. Under that's above me.
Where feed' At thou a-days, Apemantus ?
My stomach finds meat, rather where I eat it.
Tim. Would poison were obedient, knew my mind !
Apem. Where wouldt thou send it then ?
Tim. To fawce thy dishes,
Apem. The niddle of humanity thou never knewest, but the extremity of both ends. When thou wast in thy gilt, and thy perfume, they mockt thee, for too much courtesy; in thy rags thou knowest none, but art despisod
• Thus would I eat it.
Adem. Here will I mend thy feaft.
Tim. Fiut mend my company, take away thy self.
Avem. So I shall mend niy own, by th' lack of tiring.
T'im, 'Tis not well mended so, it is but botchti
If not, I would it were.
Asen. What wouldt thou, &c.