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So are they all; for every grize of fortunes
liant. Ha, you gods ! why this ? What this, you gods ? Why
- for every grize of fortune - ] Grize for step or degree. 6 fang mankind. i.e. seize, gripe.
7- no idle votarist.] No insincere or inconstant supplicant. Gold will not serve me instead of roots. Johnson.
you clear heavens !) This may mean either ye cloudless skies, or ye deities exempt from guilt.
9 To the April day again.] The April day does not relate to the widow, but to the other diseased female, who is represented the
Thou common whore of mankind, that put'st odds
drum ? — Thou'rt quick,?
Enter AlcIBIADES, with Drum and Fife, in warlike
manner; PHRYNIA and TIMANDRA. Alcib.
What art thou there? Speak. Tim. A beast, as thou art. The canker gnaw thy
heart, For showing me again the eyes of man !
Alcib. What is thy name? Is man so hateful to thee, That art thyself a man?
Tim. I am misanthropos, and hate mankind.
I know thee well;
Thy lips rot off!
outcast of an hospital. She it is whom gold embalms and spices to the April day again : i. e. gold restores her to all the freshness and sweetness of youth. i Do thy right nature.] Lie in the earth where nature laid thee. Thou'rt quick,] Thou hast life and motion in thee.
Tim. I will not kiss thee; then the rot returns To thine own lips again.
Alcib. How came the noble Timon to this change?
Tim. As the moon does, by wanting light to give :
None, but to
What is it, Timon ?
Alcib. I have heard in some sort of thy miseries. Tim. Thou saw'st them, when I had prosperity. Alcib. I see them now; then was a blessed time. Tim. As thine is now, held with a brace of harlots.
Timan. Is this the Athenian minion, whom the world
Art thou Timandra ?
Hang thee, monster! Alcib. Pardon him, sweet Timandra; for his wits Are drown'd and lost in his calamities. I have but little gold of late, brave Timon, The want whereof doth daily make revolt
Thou wilt not promise, &c.) That is, however thou may'st act, since thou art a man, hated man, I wish thee evil.
In my penurious band; I have heard, and griev'd,
Tim. I prythee, beat thy drum, and get thee gone.
Why, fare thee well:
Keep't, I cannot eat it.
Ay, Timon, and have cause. Tim. The gods confound them all i’thy conquest; and Thee after, when thou hast conquer'd ! Alcib.
Why me, Timon ? Tim. That, By killing 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 Jove 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's an usurer: Strike me the counterfeit matron; It is her habit only that is honest, Herself's a bawd: Let not the virgin's cheek Make soft thy trenchant sword; for those milk paps, That through the window-bars bore at men's eyes, Are not within the leaf of pity writ, + Set them down horrible traitors: Spare not the babe, Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their mercy; Think it a bastard, whom the oracle
+ « But set them down” -- MALONE.
Ꮐ Ꮐ Ꮞ
Hath doubtfully pronounc'd thy throat shall cut, And mince it sans remorse: Swear against objects ;S Put armour on thine ears, and on thine
eyes; Whose proof, nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes, ·Nor sight 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 thyself! Speak not, be gone. Alcib. Hast thou gold yet? I'll take the gold thou
giv'st me, Not all thy counsel.
Tim. Dost thou, or dost thou not, heaven's curse
Phr. f Timan. Give us some gold, good Timon:
Hast thou more? Tim. Enough to make a whore forswear her trade, And to make whores, a bawd. Hold up, you sluts, Your aprons mountant: You are not oathable, Although, I know, you'll swear, terribly swear, Into strong shudders, and to heavenly agues, The immortal gods that hear you, - spare your oaths, I'll trust to your conditions 6: Be whores still; And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you, Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up; Let your close fire predominate his smoke, And be no turncoats: Yet may your pains, six months, Be quite contrary: And thatch your poor thin roofs With burdens of the dead; — some that were hang’d, No matter :-wear them, betray with them : whore still; Paint till a horse may mire upon your face: A pox of wrinkles !
Phr. & Timan. Well, more gold ;- What then ?Believ't, that we'll do any thing for gold.
5 Swear against objects ;] Against objects is, against objects of cha. rity and compassion.
6 l’u to your conditions :) I will trust to your inclinations, or rather vocations.