Stew. If't 'twill not serue, 'tis not so base as you,For you serue Knaues
1.Varro. How? What does his casheer'd Worship mutter? 2.Varro. No matter what, hee's poore, and that's reuenge enough. Who can speake broader, then hee that has no house to put his head in? Such may rayle against great buildings. Enter Seruilius.
Tit. Oh heere's Seruilius: now wee shall know some answere
Seru. If I might beseech you Gentlemen, to repayre some other houre, I should deriue much from't. For tak't of my soule, my Lord leanes wondrously to discontent: His comfortable temper has forsooke him, he's much out of health, and keepes his Chamber
Luci. Many do keepe their Chambers, are not sicke:And if it be so farre beyond his health,Me thinkes he should the sooner pay his debts,And make a cleere way to the Gods
Seruil. Good Gods
Titus. We cannot take this for answer, sir
Flaminius within. Seruilius helpe, my Lord, my Lord.Enter Timon in a rage.
Tim. What, are my dores oppos'd against my passage?Haue I bin euer free, and must my houseBe my retentiue Enemy? My Gaole?The place which I haue Feasted, does it now(Like all Mankinde) shew me an Iron heart?Luci. Put in now Titus
Tit. My Lord, heere is my Bill
Luci. Here's mine
1.Var. And mine, my Lord
2.Var. And ours, my Lord
Philo. All our Billes
Tim. Knocke me downe with 'em, cleaue mee to theGirdle
Luc. Alas, my Lord
Tim. Cut my heart in summes
Tit. Mine, fifty Talents
Tim. Tell out my blood
Luc. Fiue thousand Crownes, my Lord
Tim. Fiue thousand drops payes that.What yours? and yours?1.Var. My Lord
2.Var. My Lord
Tim. Teare me, take me, and the Gods fall vpon you.
Exit Timon.
Hort. Faith I perceiue our Masters may throwe their caps at their money, these debts may well be call'd desperate ones, for a madman owes 'em.
Exeunt.
Enter Timon.
Timon. They haue e'ene put my breath from mee the slaues. Creditors? Diuels
Stew. My deere Lord
Tim. What if it should be so?Stew. My Lord
Tim. Ile haue it so. My Steward?Stew. Heere my Lord
Tim. So fitly? Go, bid all my Friends againe,Lucius, Lucullus, and Sempronius Vllorxa: All,Ile once more feast the Rascals
Stew. O my Lord, you onely speake from your distracted soule; there's not so much left to furnish out a moderate Table
Tim. Be it not in thy care:Go I charge thee, inuite them all, let in the tideOf Knaues once more: my Cooke and Ile prouide.
Exeunt.
Enter three Senators at one doore, Alcibiades meeting them, withAttendants
1.Sen. My Lord, you haue my voyce, too't,The faults Bloody:'Tis necessary he should dye:Nothing imboldens sinne so much, as Mercy
2 Most true; the Law shall bruise 'em
Alc. Honor, health, and compassion to the Senate
1 Now Captaine
Alc. I am an humble Sutor to your Vertues;For pitty is the vertue of the Law,And none but Tyrants vse it cruelly.It pleases time and Fortune to lye heauieVpon a Friend of mine, who in hot bloodHath stept into the Law: which is past depthTo those that (without heede) do plundge intoo't.He is a Man (setting his Fate aside) of comely Vertues,Nor did he soyle the fact with Cowardice.(And Honour in him, which buyes out his fault)But with a Noble Fury, and faire spirit,Seeing his Reputation touch'd to death,He did oppose his Foe:And with such sober and vnnoted passionHe did behooue his anger ere 'twas spent,As if he had but prou'd an Argument
1.Sen. You vndergo too strict a Paradox,Striuing to make an vgly deed looke faire:Your words haue tooke such paines, as if they labour'dTo bring Man-slaughter into forme, and set QuarrellingVpon the head of Valour; which indeedeIs Valour mis-begot, and came into the world,When Sects, and Factions were newly borne.Hee's truly Valiant, that can wisely sufferThe worst that man can breath,And make his Wrongs, his Out-sides,To weare them like his Rayment, carelessely,And ne're preferre his iniuries to his heart,To bring it into danger.If Wrongs be euilles, and inforce vs kill,What Folly 'tis, to hazard life for Ill
Alci. My Lord
1.Sen. You cannot make grosse sinnes looke cleare,To reuenge is no Valour, but to beare
Alci. My Lords, then vnder fauour, pardon me,If I speake like a Captaine.Why do fond men expose themselues to Battell,And not endure all threats? Sleepe vpon't,And let the Foes quietly cut their ThroatsWithout repugnancy? If there beSuch Valour in the bearing, what make weeAbroad? Why then, Women are more valiantThat stay at home, if Bearing carry it:And the Asse, more Captaine then the Lyon?The fellow loaden with Irons, wiser then the Iudge?If Wisedome be in suffering. Oh my Lords,As you are great, be pittifully Good,Who cannot condemne rashnesse in cold blood?To kill, I grant, is sinnes extreamest Gust,But in defence, by Mercy, 'tis most iust.To be in Anger, is impietie:But who is Man, that is not Angrie.Weigh but the Crime with this
2.Sen. You breath in vaine
Alci. In vaine?His seruice done at Lacedemon, and Bizantium,Were a sufficient briber for his life
1 What's that?Alc. Why say my Lords ha's done faire seruice,And slaine in fight many of your enemies:How full of valour did he beare himselfeIn the last Conflict, and made plenteous wounds?2 He has made too much plenty with him:He's a sworne Riotor, he has a sinneThat often drownes him, and takes his valour prisoner.If there were no Foes, that were enoughTo ouercome him. In that Beastly furie,He has bin knowne to commit outrages,And cherrish Factions. 'Tis inferr'd to vs,His dayes are foule, and his drinke dangerous
1 He dyes
Alci. Hard fate: he might haue dyed in warre.My Lords, if not for any parts in him,Though his right arme might purchase his owne time,And be in debt to none: yet more to moue you,Take my deserts to his, and ioyne 'em both.And for I know, your reuerend Ages loue Security,Ile pawne my Victories, all my Honour to youVpon his good returnes.If by this Crime, he owes the Law his life,Why let the Warre receiue't in valiant gore,For Law is strict, and Warre is nothing more
1 We are for Law, he dyes, vrge it no more On height of our displeasure: Friend, or Brother, He forfeits his owne blood, that spilles another
Alc. Must it be so? It must not bee:My Lords, I do beseech you know mee
2 How?Alc. Call me to your remembrances
3 What
Alc. I cannot thinke but your Age has forgot me,It could not else be, I should proue so bace,To sue and be deny'de such common Grace.My wounds ake at you
1 Do you dare our anger? 'Tis in few words, but spacious in effect: We banish thee for euer
Alc. Banish me?Banish your dotage, banish vsurie,That makes the Senate vgly
1 If after two dayes shine, Athens containe thee,Attend our waightier Iudgement.And not to swell our Spirit,He shall be executed presently.
Exeunt.
Alc. Now the Gods keepe you old enough,That you may liueOnely in bone, that none may looke on you.I'm worse then mad: I haue kept backe their FoesWhile they haue told their Money, and let outTheir Coine vpon large interest. I my selfe,Rich onely in large hurts. All those, for this?Is this the Balsome, that the vsuring SenatPowres into Captaines wounds? Banishment.It comes not ill: I hate not to be banisht,It is a cause worthy my Spleene and Furie,That I may strike at Athens. Ile cheere vpMy discontented Troopes, and lay for hearts;'Tis Honour with most Lands to be at ods,Souldiers should brooke as little wrongs as Gods.Enter.
Enter diuers Friends at seuerall doores.
1 The good time of day to you, sir
2 I also wish it to you: I thinke this Honorable Lord did but try vs this other day
1 Vpon that were my thoughts tyring when wee encountred. I hope it is not so low with him as he made it seeme in the triall of his seuerall Friends
2 It should not be, by the perswasion of his new Feasting
1 I should thinke so. He hath sent mee an earnest inuiting, which many my neere occasions did vrge mee to put off: but he hath coniur'd mee beyond them, and I must needs appeare
2 In like manner was I in debt to my importunat businesse, but he would not heare my excuse. I am sorrie, when he sent to borrow of mee, that my Prouision was out
1 I am sicke of that greefe too, as I vnderstand how all things go
2 Euery man heares so: what would hee haue borrowedof you?1 A thousand Peeces
2 A thousand Peeces?1 What of you?2 He sent to me sir- Heere he comes.Enter Timon and Attendants.
Tim. With all my heart Gentlemen both; and howfare you?1 Euer at the best, hearing well of your Lordship
2 The Swallow followes not Summer more willing, then we your Lordship
Tim. Nor more willingly leaues Winter, such Summer Birds are men. Gentlemen, our dinner will not recompence this long stay: Feast your eares with the Musicke awhile: If they will fare so harshly o'th' Trumpets sound: we shall too't presently
1 I hope it remaines not vnkindely with your Lordship, that I return'd you an empty Messenger
Tim. O sir, let it not trouble you
2 My Noble Lord
Tim. Ah my good Friend, what cheere?
The Banket brought in.
2 My most Honorable Lord, I am e'ne sick of shame, that when your Lordship this other day sent to me, I was so vnfortunate a Beggar
Tim. Thinke not on't, sir
2 If you had sent but two houres before
Tim. Let it not cumber your better remembrance.Come bring in all together
2 All couer'd Dishes
1 Royall Cheare, I warrant you
3 Doubt not that, if money and the season can yeild it1 How do you? What's the newes?3 Alcibiades is banish'd: heare you of it?Both. Alcibiades banish'd?3 'Tis so, be sure of it
1 How? How?2 I pray you vpon what?Tim. My worthy Friends, will you draw neere?3 Ile tell you more anon. Here's a Noble feast toward2 This is the old man still
3 Wilt hold? Wilt hold? 2 It do's: but time will, and so
3 I do conceyue
Tim. Each man to his stoole, with that spurre as hee would to the lip of his Mistris: your dyet shall bee in all places alike. Make not a Citie Feast of it, to let the meat coole, ere we can agree vpon the first place. Sit, sit. The Gods require our Thankes. You great Benefactors, sprinkle our Society with Thankefulnesse. For your owne guifts, make your selues prais'd: But reserue still to giue, least your Deities be despised. Lend to each man enough, that one neede not lend to another. For were your Godheads to borrow of men, men would forsake the Gods. Make the Meate be beloued, more then the Man that giues it. Let no Assembly of Twenty, be without a score of Villaines. If there sit twelue Women at the Table, let a dozen of them bee as they are. The rest of your Fees, O Gods, the Senators of Athens, together with the common legge of People, what is amisse in them, you Gods, make suteable for destruction. For these my present Friends, as they are to mee nothing, so in nothing blesse them, and to nothing are they welcome. Vncouer Dogges, and lap
Some speake. What do's his Lordship meane?Some other. I know not
Timon. May you a better Feast neuer beholdYou knot of Mouth-Friends: Smoke, & lukewarm waterIs your perfection. This is Timons last,Who stucke and spangled you with Flatteries,Washes it off and sprinkles in your facesYour reeking villany. Liue loath'd, and longMost smiling, smooth, detested Parasites,Curteous Destroyers, affable Wolues, meeke Beares:You Fooles of Fortune, Trencher-friends, Times Flyes,Cap and knee-Slaues, vapours, and Minute Iackes.Of Man and Beast, the infinite MaladieCrust you quite o're. What do'st thou go?Soft, take thy Physicke first; thou too, and thou:Stay I will lend thee money, borrow none.What? All in Motion? Henceforth be no Feast,Whereat a Villaine's not a welcome Guest.Burne house, sinke Athens, henceforth hated beOf Timon Man, and all Humanity.
Exit
Enter the Senators, with other Lords.
1 How now, my Lords? 2 Know you the quality of Lord Timons fury? 3 Push, did you see my Cap? 4 I haue lost my Gowne
1 He's but a mad Lord, & nought but humors swaies him. He gaue me a Iewell th' other day, and now hee has beate it out of my hat. Did you see my Iewell? 2 Did you see my Cap
3 Heere 'tis
4 Heere lyes my Gowne
1 Let's make no stay
2 Lord Timons mad
3 I feel't vpon my bones
4 One day he giues vs Diamonds, next day stones.
Exeunt. the Senators.
Enter Timon.
Tim. Let me looke backe vpon thee. O thou WallThat girdles in those Wolues, diue in the earth,And fence not Athens. Matrons, turne incontinent,Obedience fayle in Children: Slaues and FoolesPlucke the graue wrinkled Senate from the Bench,And minister in their steeds, to generall Filthes.Conuert o'th' Instant greene Virginity,Doo't in your Parents eyes. Bankrupts, hold fastRather then render backe; out with your Kniues,And cut your Trusters throates. Bound Seruants, steale,Large-handed Robbers your graue Masters are,And pill by Law. Maide, to thy Masters bed,Thy Mistris is o'th' Brothell. Some of sixteen,Plucke the lyn'd Crutch from thy old limping Sire,With it, beate out his Braines. Piety, and Feare,Religion to the Gods, Peace, Iustice, Truth,Domesticke awe, Night-rest, and Neighbourhood,Instruction, Manners, Mysteries, and Trades,Degrees, Obseruances, Customes, and Lawes,Decline to your confounding contraries.And yet Confusion liue: Plagues incident to men,Your potent and infectious Feauors, heapeOn Athens ripe for stroke. Thou cold Sciatica,Cripple our Senators, that their limbes may haltAs lamely as their Manners. Lust, and LibertieCreepe in the Mindes and Marrowes of our youth,That 'gainst the streame of Vertue they may striue,And drowne themselues in Riot. Itches, Blaines,So we all th' Athenian bosomes, and their cropBe generall Leprosie: Breath, infect breath,That their Society (as their Friendship) mayBe meerely poyson. Nothing Ile beare from theeBut nakednesse, thou detestable Towne,Take thou that too, with multiplying Bannes:Timon will to the Woods, where he shall findeTh' vnkindest Beast, more kinder then Mankinde.The Gods confound (heare me you good Gods all)Th' Athenians both within and out that Wall:And graunt as Timon growes, his hate may growTo the whole race of Mankinde, high and low.Amen.Enter.
Enter Steward with two or three Seruants.
1 Heare you M[aster]. Steward, where's our Master?Are we vndone, cast off, nothing remaining?Stew. Alack my Fellowes, what should I say to you?Let me be recorded by the righteous Gods,I am as poore as you
1 Such a House broke?So Noble a Master falne, all gone, and notOne Friend to take his Fortune by the arme,And go along with him
2 As we do turne our backesFrom our Companion, throwne into his graue,So his Familiars to his buried FortunesSlinke all away, leaue their false vowes with himLike empty purses pickt; and his poore selfeA dedicated Beggar to the Ayre,With his disease, of all shunn'd pouerty,Walkes like contempt alone. More of our Fellowes.Enter other Seruants.
Stew. All broken Implements of a ruin'd house
3 Yet do our hearts weare Timons Liuery,That see I by our Faces: we are Fellowes still,Seruing alike in sorrow: Leak'd is our Barke,And we poore Mates, stand on the dying Decke,Hearing the Surges threat: we must all partInto this Sea of Ayre
Stew. Good Fellowes all,The latest of my wealth Ile share among'st you.Where euer we shall meete, for Timons sake,Let's yet be Fellowes. Let's shake our heads, and sayAs 'twere a Knell vnto our Masters Fortunes,We haue seene better dayes. Let each take some:Nay put out all your hands: Not one word more,Thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poore.
Embrace and part seuerall wayes.
Oh the fierce wretchednesse that Glory brings vs!Who would not wish to be from wealth exempt,Since Riches point to Misery and Contempt?Who would be so mock'd with Glory, or to liueBut in a Dreame of Friendship,To haue his pompe, and all what state compounds,But onely painted like his varnisht Friends:Poore honest Lord, brought lowe by his owne heart,Vndone by Goodnesse: Strange vnvsuall blood,When mans worst sinne is, He do's too much Good.Who then dares to be halfe so kinde agen?For Bounty that makes Gods, do still marre Men.My deerest Lord, blest to be most accurst,Rich onely to be wretched; thy great FortunesAre made thy cheefe Afflictions. Alas (kinde Lord)Hee's flung in Rage from this ingratefull SeateOf monstrous Friends:Nor ha's he with him to supply his life,Or that which can command it:Ile follow and enquire him out.Ile euer serue his minde, with my best will,Whilst I haue Gold, Ile be his Steward still.Enter.
Enter Timon in the woods.
Tim. O blessed breeding Sun, draw from the earthRotten humidity: below thy Sisters OrbeInfect the ayre. Twin'd Brothers of one wombe,Whose procreation, residence, and birth,Scarse is diuidant; touch them with seuerall fortunes,The greater scornes the lesser. Not Nature(To whom all sores lay siege) can beare great FortuneBut by contempt of Nature.Raise me this Begger, and deny't that Lord,The Senators shall beare contempt Hereditary,The Begger Natiue Honor.It is the Pastour Lards, the Brothers sides,The want that makes him leaue: who dares? who daresIn puritie of Manhood stand vprightAnd say, this mans a Flatterer. If one be,So are they all: for euerie grize of FortuneIs smooth'd by that below. The Learned pateDuckes to the Golden Foole. All's obliquie:There's nothing leuell in our cursed NaturesBut direct villanie. Therefore be abhorr'd,All Feasts, Societies, and Throngs of men.His semblable, yea himselfe Timon disdaines,Destruction phang mankinde; Earth yeeld me Rootes,Who seekes for better of thee, sawce his pallateWith thy most operant Poyson. What is heere?Gold? Yellow, glittering, precious Gold?No Gods, I am no idle Votarist,Roots you cleere Heauens. Thus much of this will makeBlacke, white; fowle, faire; wrong, right;Base, Noble; Old, young; Coward, valiant.Ha you Gods! why this? what this, you Gods? why thisWill lugge your Priests and Seruants from your sides:Plucke stout mens pillowes from below their heads.This yellow Slaue,Will knit and breake Religions, blesse th' accurst,Make the hoare Leprosie ador'd, place Theeues,And giue them Title, knee, and approbationWith Senators on the Bench: This is itThat makes the wappen'd Widdow wed againe;Shee, whom the Spittle-house, and vlcerous sores,Would cast the gorge at. This Embalmes and SpicesTo'th' Aprill day againe. Come damn'd Earth,Thou common whore of Mankinde, that puttes oddesAmong the rout of Nations, I will make theeDo thy right Nature.
March afarre off.
Ha? A Drumme? Th'art quicke,But yet Ile bury thee: Thou't go (strong Theefe)When Gowty keepers of thee cannot stand:Nay stay thou out for earnest.Enter Alcibiades with Drumme and Fife in warlike manner, andPhrynia andTimandra.
Alc. What art thou there? speake
Tim. A Beast as thou art. The Canker gnaw thy hartFor shewing me againe the eyes of Man
Alc. What is thy name? Is man so hatefull to thee,That art thy selfe a Man?Tim. I am Misantropos, and hate Mankinde.For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dogge,That I might loue thee something
Alc. I know thee well:But in thy Fortunes am vnlearn'd, and strange
Tim. I know thee too, and more then that I know theeI not desire to know. Follow thy Drumme,With mans blood paint the ground Gules, Gules:Religious Cannons, ciuill Lawes are cruell,Then what should warre be? This fell whore of thine,Hath in her more destruction then thy Sword,For all her Cherubin looke
Phrin. Thy lips rot off
Tim. I will not kisse thee, then the rot returnesTo thine owne lippes againe
Alc. How came the Noble Timon to this change?Tim. As the Moone do's, by wanting light to giue:But then renew I could not like the Moone,There were no Sunnes to borrow of
Alc. Noble Timon, what friendship may I do thee?Tim. None, but to maintaine my opinion
Alc. What is it Timon? Tim. Promise me Friendship, but performe none. If thou wilt not promise, the Gods plague thee, for thou art a man: if thou do'st performe, confound thee, for thou art a man
Alc. I haue heard in some sort of thy Miseries
Tim. Thou saw'st them when I had prosperitie
Alc. I see them now, then was a blessed time
Tim. As thine is now, held with a brace of Harlots
Timan. Is this th' Athenian Minion, whom the worldVoic'd so regardfully?Tim. Art thou Timandra?Timan. Yes
Tim. Be a whore still, they loue thee not that vse thee, giue them diseases, leauing with thee their Lust. Make vse of thy salt houres, season the slaues for Tubbes and Bathes, bring downe Rose-cheekt youth to the Fubfast, and the Diet
Timan. Hang thee Monster
Alc. Pardon him sweet Timandra, for his witsAre drown'd and lost in his Calamities.I haue but little Gold of late, braue Timon,The want whereof, doth dayly make reuoltIn my penurious Band. I haue heard and greeu'dHow cursed Athens, mindelesse of thy worth,Forgetting thy great deeds, when Neighbour statesBut for thy Sword and Fortune trod vpon them
Tim. I prythee beate thy Drum, and get thee gone
Alc. I am thy Friend, and pitty thee deere Timon
Tim. How doest thou pitty him whom y dost troble,I had rather be alone
Alc. Why fare thee well:Heere is some Gold for thee
Tim. Keepe it, I cannot eate it
Alc. When I haue laid proud Athens on a heape
Tim. Warr'st thou 'gainst Athens
Alc. I Timon, and haue cause
Tim. The Gods confound them all in thy Conquest,And thee after, when thou hast Conquer'd
Alc. Why me, Timon?Tim. That by killing of VillainesThou was't borne to conquer my Country.Put vp thy Gold. Go on, heeres Gold, go on;Be as a Plannetary plague, when IoueWill o're some high-Vic'd City, hang his poysonIn the sicke ayre: let not thy sword skip one:Pitty not honour'd Age for his white Beard,He is an Vsurer. Strike me the counterfet Matron,It is her habite onely, that is honest,Her selfe's a Bawd. Let not the Virgins cheekeMake soft thy trenchant Sword: for those Milke pappesThat through the window Barne bore at mens eyes,Are not within the Leafe of pitty writ,But set them down horrible Traitors. Spare not the BabeWhose dimpled smiles from Fooles exhaust their mercy;Thinke it a Bastard, whom the OracleHath doubtfully pronounced, the throat shall cut,And mince it sans remorse. Sweare against Obiects,Put Armour on thine eares, and on thine eyes,Whose proofe, nor yels of Mothers, Maides, nor Babes,Nor sight of Priests in holy Vestments bleeding,Shall pierce a iot. There's Gold to pay thy Souldiers,Make large confusion: and thy fury spent,Confounded be thy selfe. Speake not, be gone
Alc. Hast thou Gold yet, Ile take the Gold thou giuestme, not all thy Counsell
Tim. Dost thou or dost thou not, Heauens curse vponthee
Both. Giue vs some Gold good Timon, hast y more?Tim. Enough to make a Whore forsweare her Trade,And to make Whores, a Bawd. Hold vp you SlutsYour Aprons mountant; you are not Othable,Although I know you'l sweare, terribly sweareInto strong shudders, and to heauenly AguesTh' immortall Gods that heare you. Spare your Oathes:Ile trust to your Conditions, be whores still.And he whose pious breath seekes to conuert you,Be strong in Whore, allure him, burne him vp,Let your close fire predominate his smoke,And be no turne-coats: yet may your paines six monthsBe quite contrary, And ThatchYour poore thin Roofes with burthens of the dead,(Some that were hang'd) no matter:Weare them, betray with them; Whore still,Paint till a horse may myre vpon your face:A pox of wrinkles
Both. Well, more Gold, what then?Beleeue't that wee'l do any thing for Gold
Tim. Consumptions soweIn hollow bones of man, strike their sharpe shinnes,And marre mens spurring. Cracke the Lawyers voyce,That he may neuer more false Title pleade,Nor sound his Quillets shrilly: Hoare the Flamen,That scold'st against the quality of flesh,And not beleeues himselfe. Downe with the Nose,Downe with it flat, take the Bridge quite awayOf him, that his particular to foreseeSmels from the generall weale. Make curl'd pate Ruffians baldAnd let the vnscarr'd Braggerts of the WarreDeriue some paine from you. Plague all,That your Actiuity may defeate and quellThe sourse of all Erection. There's more Gold.Do you damne others, and let this damne you,And ditches graue you all
Both. More counsell with more Money, bounteousTimon
Tim. More whore, more Mischeefe first, I haue giuenyou earnest
Alc. Strike vp the Drum towardes Athens, farewellTimon: if I thriue well, Ile visit thee againe
Tim. If I hope well, Ile neuer see thee more
Alc. I neuer did thee harme
Tim. Yes, thou spok'st well of me
Alc. Call'st thou that harme?Tim. Men dayly finde it. Get thee away,And take thy Beagles with thee
Alc. We but offend him, strike.
Exeunt.
Tim. That Nature being sicke of mans vnkindnesseShould yet be hungry: Common Mother, thouWhose wombe vnmeasureable, and infinite brestTeemes and feeds all: whose selfesame MettleWhereof thy proud Childe (arrogant man) is puft,Engenders the blacke Toad, and Adder blew,The gilded Newt, and eyelesse venom'd Worme,With all th' abhorred Births below Crispe Heauen,Whereon Hyperions quickning fire doth shine:Yeeld him, who all the humane Sonnes do hate,From foorth thy plenteous bosome, one poore roote:Enseare thy Fertile and Conceptious wombe,Let it no more bring out ingratefull man.Goe great with Tygers, Dragons, Wolues, and Beares,Teeme with new Monsters, whom thy vpward faceHath to the Marbled Mansion all aboueNeuer presented. O, a Root, deare thankes:Dry vp thy Marrowes, Vines, and Plough-torne Leas,Whereof ingratefull man with Licourish draughtsAnd Morsels Vnctious, greases his pure minde,That from it all Consideration slippes-Enter Apemantus.
More man? Plague, plague
Ape. I was directed hither. Men report,Thou dost affect my Manners, and dost vse them
Tim. 'Tis then, because thou dost not keepe a doggeWhom I would imitate. Consumption catch thee
Ape. This is in thee a Nature but infected,A poore vnmanly Melancholly sprungFrom change of future. Why this Spade? this place?This Slaue-like Habit, and these lookes of Care?Thy Flatterers yet weare Silke, drinke Wine, lye soft,Hugge their diseas'd Perfumes, and haue forgotThat euer Timon was. Shame not these Woods,By putting on the cunning of a Carper.Be thou a Flatterer now, and seeke to thriueBy that which ha's vndone thee; hindge thy knee,And let his very breath whom thou'lt obserueBlow off thy Cap: praise his most vicious straine,And call it excellent: thou wast told thus:Thou gau'st thine eares (like Tapsters, that bad welcom)To Knaues, and all approachers: 'Tis most iustThat thou turne Rascall, had'st thou wealth againe,Rascals should haue't. Do not assume my likenesse
Tim. Were I like thee, I'de throw away my selfe
Ape. Thou hast cast away thy selfe, being like thy selfA Madman so long, now a Foole: what think'stThat the bleake ayre, thy boysterous ChamberlaineWill put thy shirt on warme? Will these moyst Trees,That haue out-liu'd the Eagle, page thy heelesAnd skip when thou point'st out? Will the cold brookeCandied with Ice, Cawdle thy Morning tasteTo cure thy o're-nights surfet? Call the Creatures,Whose naked Natures liue in all the spightOf wrekefull Heauen, whose bare vnhoused Trunkes,To the conflicting Elements expos'dAnswer meere Nature: bid them flatter thee.O thou shalt finde
Tim. A Foole of thee: depart
Ape. I loue thee better now, then ere I did
Tim. I hate thee worse
Ape. Why?Tim. Thou flatter'st misery
Ape. I flatter not, but say thou art a Caytiffe
Tim. Why do'st thou seeke me out?Ape. To vex thee
Tim. Alwayes a Villaines Office, or a Fooles.Dost please thy selfe in't?Ape. I
Tim. What, a Knaue too?Ape. If thou did'st put this sowre cold habit onTo castigate thy pride, 'twere well: but thouDost it enforcedly: Thou'dst Courtier be againeWert thou not Beggar: willing miseryOut-liues: incertaine pompe, is crown'd before:The one is filling still, neuer compleat:The other, at high wish: best state Contentlesse,Hath a distracted and most wretched being,Worse then the worst, Content.Thou should'st desire to dye, being miserable
Tim. Not by his breath, that is more miserable.Thou art a Slaue, whom Fortunes tender armeWith fauour neuer claspt: but bred a Dogge.Had'st thou like vs from our first swath proceeded,The sweet degrees that this breefe world affords,To such as may the passiue drugges of itFreely command'st: thou would'st haue plung'd thy selfIn generall Riot, melted downe thy youthIn different beds of Lust, and neuer learn'dThe Icie precepts of respect, but followedThe Sugred game before thee. But my selfe,Who had the world as my Confectionarie,The mouthes, the tongues, the eyes, and hearts of men,At duty more then I could frame employment;That numberlesse vpon me stucke, as leauesDo on the Oake, haue with one Winters brushFell from their boughes, and left me open, bare,For euery storme that blowes. I to beare this,That neuer knew but better, is some burthen:Thy Nature, did commence in sufferance, TimeHath made thee hard in't. Why should'st y hate Men?They neuer flatter'd thee. What hast thou giuen?If thou wilt curse; thy Father (that poore ragge)Must be thy subiect; who in spight put stuffeTo some shee-Begger, and compounded theePoore Rogue, hereditary. Hence, be gone,If thou hadst not bene borne the worst of men,Thou hadst bene a Knaue and Flatterer
Ape. Art thou proud yet?Tim. I, that I am not thee
Ape. I, that I was no Prodigall
Tim. I, that I am one now.Were all the wealth I haue shut vp in thee,I'ld giue thee leaue to hang it. Get thee gone:That the whole life of Athens were in this,Thus would I eate it
Ape. Heere, I will mend thy Feast
Tim. First mend thy company, take away thy selfe
Ape. So I shall mend mine owne, by'th' lacke of thineTim. 'Tis not well mended so, it is but botcht;If not, I would it were
Ape. What would'st thou haue to Athens?Tim. Thee thither in a whirlewind: if thou wilt,Tell them there I haue Gold, looke, so I haue
Ape. Heere is no vse for Gold
Tim. The best, and truest:For heere it sleepes, and do's no hyred harme
Ape. Where lyest a nights Timon?Tim. Vnder that's aboue me.Where feed'st thou a-dayes Apemantus?Ape. Where my stomacke findes meate, or ratherwhere I eate it
Tim. Would poyson were obedient, & knew my mindApe. Where would'st thou send it?Tim. To sawce thy dishes
Ape. The middle of Humanity thou neuer knewest, but the extremitie of both ends. When thou wast in thy Gilt, and thy Perfume, they mockt thee for too much Curiositie: in thy Ragges thou know'st none, but art despis'd for the contrary. There's a medler for thee, eate it
Tim. On what I hate, I feed not
Ape. Do'st hate a Medler?Tim. I, though it looke like thee
Ape. And th'hadst hated Medlers sooner, y should'sthaue loued thy selfe better now. What man didd'st thoueuer know vnthrift, that was beloued after his meanes!Tim. Who without those meanes thou talk'st of, didstthou euer know belou'd?Ape. My selfe
Tim. I vnderstand thee: thou had'st some meanes tokeepe a Dogge
Apem. What things in the world canst thou neerestcompare to thy Flatterers?Tim. Women neerest, but men: men are the thingsthemselues. What would'st thou do with the world Apemantus,if it lay in thy power?Ape. Giue it the Beasts, to be rid of the men
Tim. Would'st thou haue thy selfe fall in the confusionof men, and remaine a Beast with the Beasts
Ape. I Timon
Tim. A beastly Ambition, which the Goddes graunt thee t' attaine to. If thou wert the Lyon, the Fox would beguile thee. if thou wert the Lambe, the Foxe would eate thee: if thou wert the Fox, the Lion would suspect thee, when peraduenture thou wert accus'd by the Asse: If thou wert the Asse, thy dulnesse would torment thee; and still thou liu'dst but as a Breakefast to the Wolfe. If thou wert the Wolfe, thy greedinesse would afflict thee, & oft thou should'st hazard thy life for thy dinner. Wert thou the Vnicorne, pride and wrath would confound thee, and make thine owne selfe the conquest of thy fury. Wert thou a Beare, thou would'st be kill'd by the Horse: wert thou a Horse, thou would'st be seaz'd by the Leopard: wert thou a Leopard, thou wert Germane to the Lion, and the spottes of thy Kindred, were Iurors on thy life. All thy safety were remotion, and thy defence absence. What Beast could'st thou bee, that were not subiect to a Beast: and what a Beast art thou already, that seest not thy losse in transformation
Ape. If thou could'st please meWith speaking to me, thou might'stHaue hit vpon it heere.The Commonwealth of Athens, is becomeA Forrest of Beasts
Tim. How ha's the Asse broke the wall, that thou artout of the Citie
Ape. Yonder comes a Poet and a Painter:The plague of Company light vpon thee:I will feare to catch it, and giue way.When I know not what else to do,Ile see thee againe
Tim. When there is nothing liuing but thee,Thou shalt be welcome.I had rather be a Beggers Dogge,Then Apemantus
Ape. Thou art the CapOf all the Fooles aliue
Tim. Would thou wert cleane enoughTo spit vpon
Ape. A plague on thee,Thou art too bad to curse
Tim. All VillainesThat do stand by thee, are pure
Ape. There is no Leprosie,But what thou speak'st
Tim. If I name thee, Ile beate thee;But I should infect my hands
Ape. I would my tongueCould rot them off
Tim. Away thou issue of a mangie dogge,Choller does kill me,That thou art aliue, I swoond to see thee
Ape. Would thou would'st burst
Tim. Away thou tedious Rogue, I am sorry I shall lose a stone by thee
Ape. Beast
Tim. Slaue
Ape. Toad
Tim. Rogue, Rogue, Rogue.I am sicke of this false world, and will loue noughtBut euen the meere necessities vpon't:Then Timon presently prepare thy graue:Lye where the light Fome of the Sea may beateThy graue stone dayly, make thine Epitaph,That death in me, at others liues may laugh.O thou sweete King-killer, and deare diuorceTwixt naturall Sunne and fire: thou bright defilerOf Himens purest bed, thou valiant Mars,Thou euer, yong, fresh, loued, and delicate wooer,Whose blush doth thawe the consecrated SnowThat lyes on Dians lap.Thou visible God,That souldrest close Impossibilities,And mak'st them kisse; that speak'st with euerie TongueTo euerie purpose: O thou touch of hearts,Thinke thy slaue-man rebels, and by thy vertueSet them into confounding oddes, that BeastsMay haue the world in Empire
Ape. Would 'twere so,But not till I am dead. Ile say th'hast Gold:Thou wilt be throng'd too shortly
Tim. Throng'd too?Ape. I
Tim. Thy backe I prythee
Ape. Liue, and loue thy misery
Tim. Long liue so, and so dye. I am quit
Ape. Mo things like men,Eate Timon, and abhorre then.
Exit Apeman[tus].
Enter the Bandetti.
1 Where should he haue this Gold? It is some poore Fragment, some slender Ort of his remainder: the meere want of Gold, and the falling from of his Friendes, droue him into this Melancholly
2 It is nois'd He hath a masse of Treasure
3 Let vs make the assay vpon him, if he care not for't, he will supply vs easily: if he couetously reserue it, how shall's get it? 2 True: for he beares it not about him: 'Tis hid
1 Is not this hee? All. Where? 2 'Tis his description
3 He? I know him
All. Saue thee Timon
Tim. Now Theeues
All. Soldiers, not Theeues
Tim. Both too, and womens Sonnes
All. We are not Theeues, but menThat much do want
Tim. Your greatest want is, you want much of meat:Why should you want? Behold, the Earth hath Rootes:Within this Mile breake forth a hundred Springs:The Oakes beare Mast, the Briars Scarlet Heps,The bounteous Huswife Nature, on each bush,Layes her full Messe before you. Want? why Want?1 We cannot liue on Grasse, on Berries, Water,As Beasts, and Birds, and Fishes
Ti. Nor on the Beasts themselues, the Birds & Fishes,You must eate men. Yet thankes I must you con,That you are Theeues profest: that you worke notIn holier shapes: For there is boundlesse TheftIn limited Professions. Rascall TheeuesHeere's Gold. Go, sucke the subtle blood o'th' Grape,Till the high Feauor seeth your blood to froth,And so scape hanging. Trust not the Physitian,His Antidotes are poyson, and he slayesMoe then you Rob: Take wealth, and liues together,Do Villaine do, since you protest to doo't.Like Workemen, Ile example you with Theeuery:The Sunnes a Theefe, and with his great attractionRobbes the vaste Sea. The Moones an arrant Theefe,And her pale fire, she snatches from the Sunne.The Seas a Theefe, whose liquid Surge, resoluesThe Moone into Salt teares. The Earth's a Theefe,That feeds and breeds by a composture stolneFrom gen'rall excrement: each thing's a Theefe.The Lawes, your curbe and whip, in their rough powerHa's vncheck'd Theft. Loue not your selues, away,Rob one another, there's more Gold, cut throates,All that you meete are Theeues: to Athens go,Breake open shoppes, nothing can you stealeBut Theeues do loose it: steale lesse, for this I giue you,And Gold confound you howsoere: Amen
3 Has almost charm'd me from my Profession, by perswadingme to it
1 'Tis in the malice of mankinde, that he thus aduisesvs not to haue vs thriue in our mystery
2 Ile beleeue him as an Enemy,And giue ouer my Trade
1 Let vs first see peace in Athens, there is no time somiserable, but a man may be true.
Exit Theeues.
Enter the Steward to Timon.
Stew. Oh you Gods!Is yon'd despis'd and ruinous man my Lord?Full of decay and fayling? Oh MonumentAnd wonder of good deeds, euilly bestow'd!What an alteration of Honor has desp'rate want made?What vilder thing vpon the earth, then Friends,Who can bring Noblest mindes, to basest ends.How rarely does it meete with this times guise,When man was wisht to loue his Enemies:Grant I may euer loue, and rather wooThose that would mischeefe me, then those that doo.Has caught me in his eye, I will present my honest griefevnto him; and as my Lord, still serue him with my life.My deerest Master
Tim. Away: what art thou?Stew. Haue you forgot me, Sir?Tim. Why dost aske that? I haue forgot all men.Then, if thou grunt'st, th'art a man.I haue forgot thee
Stew. An honest poore seruant of yours
Tim. Then I know thee not:I neuer had honest man about me, I allI kept were Knaues, to serue in meate to Villaines
Stew. The Gods are witnesse,Neu'r did poore Steward weare a truer greefeFor his vndone Lord, then mine eyes for you
Tim. What, dost thou weepe?Come neerer, then I loue theeBecause thou art a woman, and disclaim'stFlinty mankinde: whose eyes do neuer giue,But thorow Lust and Laughter: pittie's sleeping:Strange times y weepe with laughing, not with weeping
Stew. I begge of you to know me, good my Lord,T' accept my greefe, and whil'st this poore wealth lasts,To entertaine me as your Steward still
Tim. Had I a StewardSo true, so iust, and now so comfortable?It almost turnes my dangerous Nature wilde.Let me behold thy face: Surely, this manWas borne of woman.Forgiue my generall, and exceptlesse rashnesseYou perpetuall sober Gods. I do proclaimeOne honest man: Mistake me not, but one:No more I pray, and hee's a Steward.How faine would I haue hated all mankinde,And thou redeem'st thy selfe. But all saue thee,I fell with Curses.Me thinkes thou art more honest now, then wise:For, by oppressing and betraying mee,Thou might'st haue sooner got another Seruice:For many so arriue at second Masters,Vpon their first Lords necke. But tell me true,(For I must euer doubt, though ne're so sure)Is not thy kindnesse subtle, couetous,If not a Vsuring kindnesse, and as rich men deale Guifts,Expecting in returne twenty for one?Stew. No my most worthy Master, in whose brestDoubt, and suspect (alas) are plac'd too late:You should haue fear'd false times, when you did Feast.Suspect still comes, where an estate is least.That which I shew, Heauen knowes, is meerely Loue,Dutie, and Zeale, to your vnmatched minde;Care of your Food and Liuing, and beleeue it,My most Honour'd Lord,For any benefit that points to mee,Either in hope, or present, I'de exchangeFor this one wish, that you had power and wealthTo requite me, by making rich your selfe
Tim. Looke thee, 'tis so: thou singly honest man,Heere take: the Gods out of my miserieHa's sent thee Treasure. Go, liue rich and happy,But thus condition'd: Thou shalt build from men:Hate all, curse all, shew Charity to none,But let the famisht flesh slide from the Bone,Ere thou releeue the Begger. Giue to doggesWhat thou denyest to men. Let Prisons swallow 'em,Debts wither 'em to nothing, be men like blasted woodsAnd may Diseases licke vp their false bloods,And so farewell, and thriue
Stew. O let me stay, and comfort you, my Master
Tim. If thou hat'st CursesStay not: flye, whil'st thou art blest and free:Ne're see thou man, and let me ne're see thee.
Exit
Enter Poet, and Painter.
Pain. As I tooke note of the place, it cannot be farrewhere he abides
Poet. What's to be thought of him?Does the Rumor hold for true,That hee's so full of Gold?Painter. Certaine.Alcibiades reports it: Phrinica and TimandyloHad Gold of him. He likewise enrich'dPoore stragling Souldiers, with great quantity.'Tis saide, he gaue vnto his StewardA mighty summe
Poet. Then this breaking of his,Ha's beene but a Try for his Friends?Painter. Nothing else:You shall see him a Palme in Athens againe,And flourish with the highest:Therefore, 'tis not amisse, we tender our louesTo him, in this suppos'd distresse of his:It will shew honestly in vs,And is very likely, to loade our purposesWith what they trauaile for,If it be a iust and true report, that goesOf his hauing
Poet. What haue you nowTo present vnto him?Painter. Nothing at this timeBut my Visitation: onely I will promise himAn excellent Peece
Poet. I must serue him so too;Tell him of an intent that's comming toward him
Painter. Good as the best.Promising, is the verie Ayre o'th' Time;It opens the eyes of Expectation.Performance, is euer the duller for his acte,And but in the plainer and simpler kinde of people,The deede of Saying is quite out of vse.To Promise, is most Courtly and fashionable;Performance, is a kinde of Will or TestamentWhich argues a great sicknesse in his iudgementThat makes it.Enter Timon from his Caue.
Timon. Excellent Workeman,Thou canst not paint a man so baddeAs is thy selfe
Poet. I am thinkingWhat I shall say I haue prouided for him:It must be a personating of himselfe:A Satyre against the softnesse of Prosperity,With a Discouerie of the infinite FlatteriesThat follow youth and opulencie
Timon. Must thou needesStand for a Villaine in thine owne Worke?Wilt thou whip thine owne faults in other men?Do so, I haue Gold for thee
Poet. Nay let's seeke him.Then do we sinne against our owne estate,When we may profit meete, and come too late
Painter. True:When the day serues before blacke-corner'd night;Finde what thou want'st, by free and offer'd light.Come
Tim. Ile meete you at the turne:What a Gods Gold, that he is worshiptIn a baser Temple, then where Swine feede?'Tis thou that rigg'st the Barke, and plow'st the Fome,Setlest admired reuerence in a Slaue,To thee be worshipt, and thy Saints for aye:Be crown'd with Plagues, that thee alone obay.Fit I meet them
Poet. Haile worthy Timon
Pain. Our late Noble Master
Timon. Haue I once liu'dTo see two honest men?Poet. Sir:Hauing often of your open Bounty tasted,Hearing you were retyr'd, your Friends falne off,Whose thankelesse Natures (O abhorred Spirits)Not all the Whippes of Heauen, are large enough.What, to you,Whose Starre-like Noblenesse gaue life and influenceTo their whole being? I am rapt, and cannot couetThe monstrous bulke of this IngratitudeWith any size of words
Timon. Let it go,Naked men may see't the better:You that are honest, by being what you are,Make them best seene, and knowne
Pain. He, and my selfeHaue trauail'd in the great showre of your guifts,And sweetly felt it
Timon. I, you are honest man
Painter. We are hither comeTo offer you our seruice
Timon. Most honest men:Why how shall I requite you?Can you eate Roots, and drinke cold water, no?Both. What we can do,Wee'l do to do you seruice
Tim. Y'are honest men,Y'haue heard that I haue Gold,I am sure you haue, speake truth, y'are honest men
Pain. So it is said my Noble Lord, but thereforeCame not my Friend, nor I
Timon. Good honest men: Thou draw'st a counterfetBest in all Athens, th'art indeed the best,Thou counterfet'st most liuely
Pain. So, so, my Lord
Tim. E'ne so sir as I say. And for thy fiction,Why thy Verse swels with stuffe so fine and smooth,That thou art euen Naturall in thine Art.But for all this (my honest Natur'd friends)I must needs say you haue a little fault,Marry 'tis not monstrous in you, neither wish IYou take much paines to mend
Both. Beseech your HonourTo make it knowne to vs
Tim. You'l take it ill
Both. Most thankefully, my Lord
Timon. Will you indeed?Both. Doubt it not worthy Lord
Tim. There's neuer a one of you but trusts a Knaue,That mightily deceiues you
Both. Do we, my Lord?Tim. I, and you heare him cogge,See him dissemble,Know his grosse patchery, loue him, feede him,Keepe in your bosome, yet remaine assur'dThat he's a made-vp-Villaine
Pain. I know none such, my Lord
Poet. Nor I
Timon. Looke you,I loue you well, Ile giue you GoldRid me these Villaines from your companies;Hang them, or stab them, drowne them in a draught,Confound them by some course, and come to me,Ile giue you Gold enough
Both. Name them my Lord, let's know them
Tim. You that way, and you this:But two in Company:Each man a part, all single, and alone,Yet an arch Villaine keepes him company:If where thou art, two Villaines shall not be,Come not neere him. If thou would'st not recideBut where one Villaine is, then him abandon.Hence, packe, there's Gold, you came for Gold ye slaues:You haue worke for me; there's payment, hence,You are an Alcumist, make Gold of that:Out Rascall dogges.
Exeunt.
Enter Steward, and two Senators.
Stew. It is vaine that you would speake with Timon:For he is set so onely to himselfe,That nothing but himselfe, which lookes like man,Is friendly with him
1.Sen. Bring vs to his Caue. It is our part and promise to th' Athenians To speake with Timon
2.Sen. At all times alikeMen are not still the same: 'twas Time and GreefesThat fram'd him thus. Time with his fairer hand,Offering the Fortunes of his former dayes,The former man may make him: bring vs to himAnd chanc'd it as it may
Stew. Heere is his Caue:Peace and content be heere. Lord Timon, Timon,Looke out, and speake to Friends: Th' AtheniansBy two of their most reuerend Senate greet thee:Speake to them Noble Timon.Enter Timon out of his Caue.
Tim. Thou Sunne that comforts burne,Speake and be hang'd:For each true word, a blister, and each falseBe as a Cantherizing to the root o'th' Tongue,Consuming it with speaking
1 Worthy Timon
Tim. Of none but such as you,And you of Timon
1 The Senators of Athens, greet thee Timon
Tim. I thanke them,And would send them backe the plague,Could I but catch it for them
1 O forgetWhat we are sorry for our selues in thee:The Senators, with one consent of loue,Intreate thee backe to Athens, who haue thoughtOn speciall Dignities, which vacant lyeFor thy best vse and wearing
2 They confesseToward thee, forgetfulnesse too generall grosse;Which now the publike Body, which doth sildomePlay the recanter, feeling in it selfeA lacke of Timons ayde, hath since withallOf it owne fall, restraining ayde to Timon,And send forth vs, to make their sorrowed render,Together, with a recompence more fruitfullThen their offence can weigh downe by the Dramme,I euen such heapes and summes of Loue and Wealth,As shall to thee blot out, what wrongs were theirs,And write in thee the figures of their loue,Euer to read them thine
Tim. You witch me in it;Surprize me to the very brinke of teares;Lend me a Fooles heart, and a womans eyes,And Ile beweepe these comforts, worthy Senators
1 Therefore so please thee to returne with vs,And of our Athens, thine and ours to takeThe Captainship, thou shalt be met with thankes,Allowed with absolute power, and thy good nameLiue with Authoritie: so soone we shall driue backeOf Alcibiades th' approaches wild,Who like a Bore too sauage, doth root vpHis Countries peace
2 And shakes his threatning SwordAgainst the walles of Athens
1 Therefore Timon
Tim. Well sir, I will: therefore I will sir thus:If Alcibiades kill my Countrymen,Let Alcibiades know this of Timon,That Timon cares not. But if he sacke faire Athens,And take our goodly aged men by'th' Beards,Giuing our holy Virgins to the staineOf contumelious, beastly, mad-brain'd warre:Then let him know, and tell him Timon speakes it,In pitty of our aged, and our youth,I cannot choose but tell him that I care not,And let him tak't at worst: For their Kniues care not,While you haue throats to answer. For my selfe,There's not a whittle, in th' vnruly Campe,But I do prize it at my loue, beforeThe reuerends Throat in Athens. So I leaue youTo the protection of the prosperous Gods,As Theeues to Keepers
Stew. Stay not, all's in vaine
Tim. Why I was writing of my Epitaph,It will be seene to morrow. My long sicknesseOf Health, and Liuing, now begins to mend,And nothing brings me all things. Go, liue still,Be Alcibiades your plague; you his,And last so long enough
1 We speake in vaine
Tim. But yet I loue my Country, and am notOne that reioyces in the common wracke,As common bruite doth put it
1 That's well spoke
Tim. Commend me to my louing Countreymen
1 These words become your lippes as they passe thorowthem
2 And enter in our eares, like great TriumphersIn their applauding gates
Tim. Commend me to them,And tell them, that to ease them of their greefes,Their feares of Hostile strokes, their Aches losses,Their pangs of Loue, with other incident throwesThat Natures fragile Vessell doth sustaineIn lifes vncertaine voyage, I will some kindnes do them,Ile teach them to preuent wilde Alcibiades wrath
1 I like this well, he will returne againe
Tim. I haue a Tree which growes heere in my Close,That mine owne vse inuites me to cut downe,And shortly must I fell it. Tell my Friends,Tell Athens, in the sequence of degree,From high to low throughout, that who so pleaseTo stop Affliction, let him take his haste;Come hither ere my Tree hath felt the Axe,And hang himselfe. I pray you do my greeting
Stew. Trouble him no further, thus you still shallFinde him
Tim. Come not to me againe, but say to Athens,Timon hath made his euerlasting MansionVpon the Beached Verge of the salt Flood,Who once a day with his embossed FrothThe turbulent Surge shall couer; thither come,And let my graue-stone be your Oracle:Lippes, let foure words go by, and Language end:What is amisse, Plague and Infection mend.Graues onely be mens workes, and Death their gaine;Sunne, hide thy Beames, Timon hath done his Raigne.
Exit Timon.
1 His discontents are vnremoueably coupled to Nature
2 Our hope in him is dead: let vs returne, And straine what other meanes is left vnto vs In our deere perill
1 It requires swift foot.
Exeunt.
Enter two other Senators, with a Messenger.
1 Thou hast painfully discouer'd: are his FilesAs full as thy report?Mes. I haue spoke the least.Besides his expedition promises present approach
2 We stand much hazard, if they bring not Timon
Mes. I met a Currier, one mine ancient Friend,Whom though in generall part we were oppos'd,Yet our old loue made a particular force,And made vs speake like Friends. This man was ridingFrom Alcibiades to Timons Caue,With Letters of intreaty, which importedHis Fellowship i'th' cause against your City,In part for his sake mou'd.Enter the other Senators.
1 Heere come our Brothers
3 No talke of Timon, nothing of him expect,The Enemies Drumme is heard, and fearefull scouringDoth choake the ayre with dust: In, and prepare,Ours is the fall I feare, our Foes the Snare.
Exeunt.
Enter a Souldier in the Woods, seeking Timon.
Sol. By all description this should be the place.Whose heere? Speake hoa. No answer? What is this?Tymon is dead, who hath out-stretcht his span,Some Beast reade this; There do's not liue a Man.Dead sure, and this his Graue, what's on this Tomb,I cannot read: the Charracter Ile take with wax,Our Captaine hath in euery Figure skill;An ag'd Interpreter, though yong in dayes:Before proud Athens hee's set downe by this,Whose fall the marke of his Ambition is.Enter.
Trumpets sound. Enter Alcibiades with his Powers before Athens.
Alc. Sound to this Coward, and lasciuious Towne,Our terrible approach.
Sounds a Parly.
The Senators appeare vpon the wals.
Till now you haue gone on, and fill'd the timeWith all Licentious measure, making your willesThe scope of Iustice. Till now, my selfe and suchAs slept within the shadow of your powerHaue wander'd with our trauerst Armes, and breath'dOur sufferance vainly: Now the time is flush,When crouching Marrow in the bearer strongCries (of it selfe) no more: Now breathlesse wrong,Shall sit and pant in your great Chaires of ease,And pursie Insolence shall breake his windeWith feare and horrid flight
1.Sen. Noble, and young;When thy first greefes were but a meere conceit,Ere thou had'st power, or we had cause of feare,We sent to thee, to giue thy rages Balme,To wipe out our Ingratitude, with LouesAboue their quantitie
2 So did we wooeTransformed Timon, to our Citties loueBy humble Message, and by promist meanes:We were not all vnkinde, nor all deserueThe common stroke of warre
1 These walles of ours,Were not erected by their hands, from whomYou haue receyu'd your greefe: Nor are they such,That these great Towres, Trophees, & Schools shold fallFor priuate faults in them