TIM. A beaft, as thou art. The canker gnaw thy heart, For fhowing me again the eyes of man!

ALCIB. What is thy name? Is man fo hateful to thee, That art thyfelf a man?

TIM. I am mifanthropos, and hate mankind.

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

That I might love thee fomething.

ALCIB. I know thee well;

But in thy fortunes am unlearn'd and ftrange.

[thee,

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

I not defire to know. Follow thy drum;

With man's blood paint the ground, gules, gules:
Religious canons, civil laws are cruel;

Then what fhould war be? This fell whore of thine

Hath in her more deftruction than thy fword,

For all her cherubin look.

PHRY. Thy lips rot off!

TIM. I will not kifs 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 funs to borrow of.

ALCIB. Noble Timon,

What friendship may I do thee?

TIM. None, but to

Maintain my opinion.

ALCIB. What is it, Timon?

TIM. Promise me friendship, but perform none: If Thou wilt not promise, the gods plague thee, for Thou art a man! if thou doft perform, confound thee, For thour't a man!

ALCIB. I have heard in fome fort of thy miferies.

TIM. Thou faw'ft them, when I had profperity. ALCIB. I fee them now; then was a blessed time. TIM. As thine is now, held with a brace of harlots. TYMAN. Is this the Athenian minion, whom the world Voic'd fo regardfully?

TIM. Art thou Tymandra?

TYMAN. Yes.

TIM. Be a whore still! they love thee not, that use thee; Give them diseases, leaving with thee their luft.

Make use of thy falt hours: feafon the flaves

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

TYMAN. Hang thee, monfter!

ALCIB. Pardon him, fweet Tymandra; 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 have heard, and griev'd,
How curfed Athens, mindlefs of thy worth,
Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbour ftates,
But for thy fword and fortune, trod upon them,—
Tıм. I pr’ythee, beat thy drum, and get thee gone,
ALCIB. I am thy friend, and pity thee, dear Timon.
TIM. How doft thou pity him, whom thou doft trouble?
I had rather be alone.

ALCIB. Why, fare thee well:

Here's fome gold for thee.

TIM. Keep't, I cannot eat it.

ALCIB. When I have laid proud Athens on a heap,

TIM. Warr'ft thou 'gainst Athens?

ALCIB. Ay, Timon, and have cause.

TIM. The gods confound them all i' thy conqueft; and

Thee after, when thou haft conquer'd!

ALCIB. Why me, Timon?

TIM. That,

By killing 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 poison
In the fick air: Let not thy fword skip one:
Pity hot honour'd age for his white beard,
He's an ufurer: Strike me the counterfeit matron;
It is the habit only that is honest,

Herfelf's a bawd: Let not the virgin's cheek

Make soft thy trenchant fword; for thofe 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

Hath doubtfully pronounc'd thy throat shall 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,
Nor fight of priests in holy vestments bleeding,
Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay thy foldiers:
Make large confufion; and, thy fury spent,
Confounded be thyfelf! fpeak not, be gone.

ALCIB. Haft thou gold yet? I'll take the gold thou Not all thy counsel.

[giv'ft me,

TIM. Doft thou, or doft thou not, heaven's curfe upon

thee!

[thou more?

PHR. AND TYM. Give us fome gold, good Timon: Haft TIM. Enough to make a whore forfwear her trade, And to make whores, a bawd. Hold up, you fluts,

Your aprons mountant: You are not oathable,—
Although, I know, you'll fwear, terribly swear,
Into strong fhudders, and to heavenly agues,
The immortal gods that hear you,-spare your oaths,
I'll truft to your conditions: Be whores ftill;
And he whose pious breath feeks to convert you,
Be ftrong in whore, allure him, burn him up;
Let your clofe fire predominate his smoke,

And be no turncoats: Yet may your pains, fix months,
Be quite contrary: And thatch your poor thin roofs
With burdens of the dead;-fome that were hang'd,

No matter wear them, betray with them: whore ftill; Paint till a horse may mire upon your face :

A pox of wrinkles!

PHR. AND TYM. Well, more gold;-What then?— Believe't, that we'll do any thing for gold.

TIM. Confumptions fow

In hollow bones of man; ftrike their fharp fhins,
And mar men's fpurring. Crack the lawyer's voice,
That he may never more false title plead,

Nor found his quillets fhrilly: hoar the flamen,
That fcolds 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,

[bald;

Smells from the general weal: Make curl'd-pate ruffians

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!

[bounteous Timon.

PHR. AND TYM. More counfel, with more money,

TIM. More whore, more mischief firft; I have given you earnest.

ALCIB. Strike up the drum towards Athens. Farewell, Timon;

If I thrive well, I'll vifit thee again.

TIM. If I hope well, I'll never fee thee more.

ALCIB. I never did thee harm.

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

ALCIB. Call'ft thou that harm?

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

ALCIB. We but offend him.

Strike.

[Drum beats.

TYMANDRA.

Exeunt ALCIBIADES, PHRYNIA, and

TIM. That nature, being fick of man's unkindness, Should yet be hungry!-Common mother, thou, [Digging.

Whose womb unmeasurable, and infinite breast,
Teems, and feeds all; whose felf-fame mettle,
Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is puff'd,
Engenders the black toad, and adder blue,
The gilded newt, and eyeless venom'd worm,
With all the abhorred births below crifp heaven
Whereon Hyperion's quickening fire doth shine;
Yield him, who all thy human fons doth 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 tigers, dragons, wolves, and bears; Teem with new monfters, whom thy upward face Hath to the marbled mansion all above

Never prefented!-O, a root,-Dear thanks!