Ducks to the golden fool. All is oblique ;
There's nothing level in our cursed natures,
But direct villainy. Therefore, be abhorr'd
All feasts, societies, and throngs of men!
His semblable, yea, himself, Timon disdains:
Destruction fang mankind! Earth, yield me roots!

-

Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate
With thy most operant poison - What is here?
Gold? yellow, glittering, precious gold? No, gods,
I am no idle votarist. Roots, you clear heavens!
Thus much of this will make black, white; foul, fair;

[Digging.

Wrong, right; base, noble; old, young; coward, valiant.
Ha! you gods, why this? What this, you gods! Why, this
Will lug your priests and servants from your sides,
Pluck stout men's pillows from below their heads.
This yellow slave

Will knit and break religions; bless th' accurs'd;
Make the hoar leprosy ador'd; place thieves,
And give them title, knee, and approbation,
With senators on the bench: this is it,
That makes the wappen'd widow wed again;
She, whom the spital-house, and ulcerous sores
Would cast the gorge at, this embalms and spices
To the April day again. Come, damned earth,
Thou common whore of mankind, that put'st odds
Among the rout of nations, I will make thee

Do thy right nature. [March afar off.] Ha! a drum? Thou 'rt quick,

But yet I'll bury thee: thou 'lt go, strong thief,

When gouty keepers of thee cannot stand.

Nay, stay thou out for earnest.

-

[Reserving some gold.

Enter ALCIBIADES, with Drum and Fife, in warlike manner;

and PHRYNIA and TIMANdra.

Alcib.

Speak.

What art thou there?

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.

For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog,

That I might love thee something.

Alcib.

I know thee well;

But in thy fortunes am unlearn'd and strange.

Tim. I know thee too; and more, than that I know thee,

I not desire to know. Follow thy drum;

With man's blood paint the ground, gules, gules:

Religious canons, civil laws are cruel;

Then what should war be? This fell whore of thine

Hath in her more destruction than thy sword,

For all her cherubin look.

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 : But then, renew I could not, like the moon;

There were no suns to borrow of.

Tim. Promise me friendship, but perform none: if thou wilt not promise, the gods plague thee, for thou art a man! if thou dost perform, confound thee, for thou art a man!

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 th' Athenian minion, whom the world
Voic'd so regardfully?

Tim. Be a whore still! they love thee not, that use thee: Give them diseases, leaving with thee their lust.

Make use of thy salt hours; season the slaves

For tubs, and baths; bring down rose-cheeked youth
To the tub-fast, and the diet.

Timan.

Hang thee, monster!

Alcib. Pardon him, sweet Timandra, far 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

In my penurious band: I have heard and griev'd,
How cursed Athens, mindless of thy worth,
Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbour states,
But for thy sword and fortune, trod upon them,

Tim. I pr'ythee, beat thy drum, and get thee gone.
Alcib. I am thy friend, and pity thee, dear Timon.
Tim. How dost thou pity him, whom thou dost trouble?
I had rather be alone.

Alcib.

Why, fare thee well:

Here is some gold for thee.

Tim.

Keep it, I cannot eat it.

Alcibs When I have laid proud Athens on a heap,
Tim. Warr'st thou 'gainst Athens?

Alcib. Ay Timon, and have cause.

Tim. The gods confound them all in thy conquest;

And thee after, when thou hast conquered:

Alcib. Why me, Timon?
Tim.

That, by killing of villains,

Thou wast born to conquer my country.
Put up thy gold: go on, here's gold,

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;

go on;

He is 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,

But set them down horrible traitors. Spare not the babe,
Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their mercy :
Think it a bastard, whom the oracle

Hath doubtfully pronounc'd thy throat shall cut,
And mince it sans remorse: swear against objects;
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 upon thee! Phr. & 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 cathable,
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: 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;

No matter:

some that were hang'd,

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. Believ't, that we 'll do any thing for gold. Tim. Consumptions sow

What then?

In hollow bones of man! strike their sharp shins,
And mar men's spurring. Crack the lawyer's voice,
That he may never more false title plead,

Nor sound his quillets shrilly: hoar the flamen,
That scolds against the quality of flesh,

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 general weal: make curl'd-pate ruffians bald;
And let the unscarr'd braggarts of the war

Derive some pain from you. Plague all,

That your activity may defeat and quell

The source of all erection. - There's more gold:

Do you damn others, and let this damn you,

And ditches grave you all!

Phr. & Timan. More counsel with more money, bounteous

Timon.

Tim. More whore, more mischief first; I have given you

earnest.

Alcib. Strike up the drum towards Athens! Farewell, Timon: If I thrive well, I'll visit thee again.

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

Alcib. I never did thee harm.

Tim. Yes, thou spok'st well of me.
Alcib.

Call'st thou that harm?

Tim. Men daily find it. Get thee away, And take thy beagles with thee.

Alcib.

We but offend him.

Strike!

[Drum beats.
TIMANDRA.

Exeunt ALCIBIADES, PHRYNIA, and

Tim. That nature, being sick of man's unkindness, Should yet be hungry! Common mother, thou, Whose womb unmeasurable, and infinite breast,

[Digging.