Alc. Why, fare thee well:

Here's gold for thee.

Tim. Keep it, I cannot eat it.

Alc. When I have lay'd proud Athens on a heap, —
Tim. Warr'ft thou 'gainst Athens?

Alc. Ay, Timon, and have cause.

Tim. The gods confound them all then in thy conquest; And after, thee, when thou haft conquered!

Alc. But why me, Timon?

Tim. That by killing villains

Thou waft born to make conqueft of 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 not honour'd age for his white beard,
He is an ufurer: ftrike me the matron,
It is her habit only that is honeft,

Herfelf's a bawd: let not the virgin's cheek
Make soft thy trenchant fword; for those milk-paps
That through the window-lawn bore at men's eyes,
Are not within the leaf of pity writ,

Set them down horrible traitors: fpare not the babe
Whofe dimpled smiles from fools extort their mercy;
Think it a bastard, who, the oracle

Hath doubtfully pronounc'd, thy throat shall cut,
And mince it fans remorfe: fwear 'gainft all 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 veftments bleeding,
Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay thy foldiers:
Make large confufion; and, thy fury spent,
Confounded be thyfelf! Speak not, be gone.
Alc. Haft thou gold yet?

I'll take the gold thou giv'ft me, not thy counsel.

Tim. Doft thou, or doft thou not, heav'n's curfe upon thee!

Both.

Both. Give us fome gold, good Timon; haft thou more ?
Tim. Enough to make a whore forswear her trade,
And to make whores abundant. Hold up, you fluts,
Your aprons mountant: you're not oathable,
(Although, I know, you'll fwear, terribly swear
Into ftrong fhudders and to heavenly agues

Th' immortal gods that hear you,) fpare your oaths;
I'll truft to your conditions: be whores ftill;
And he whofe pious breath seeks to convert you,
Be ftrong in whore, allure him, burn him up:
Let your close fire predominate his smoke,
And be no turncoats: yet may your pains exteriour
Be quite contrary; make falfe hair, and thatch
Your poor thin roofs with burdens of the dead,
Some that were hang'd, no matter:

Wear them, betray with them; and whore on still:
Paint till a horse may mire upon your face;

A pox of wrinkles!

Both. Well, more gold;

Believe that we'll do any thing for gold.

Tim. Confumptions fow

In hollow bones of man, ftrike their fharps fhins
And mar men's fparring. 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 nofe,

Down with it flat; take the bridge quite away

Of him, that his particular to foresee

Smells from the gen'ral weal: make curl'd-pate ruffians
Quite bald, and let the unscarr'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!

Both.

Both. More counsel with more money, bounteous Timon.
Tim. More whore, more mischief firft; I've given you earnest.
Alc. Strike up the drum tow'rds Athens. - Farewel, Timon:
If I thrive well, I'll vifit thee again.

Tim. If I hope well, I'll never fee thee more.
Alc. I never did thee harm.

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

Alc. Call'ft thou that harm ?

Tim. Men daily find it. Get thee hence away,

And take thy beagles with thee.

Alc. We but offend him. — Strike.

[Exeunt Alcib. Phrynia and Timandra.

SCENE V.

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; o thou, whose selfsame 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 th' abhorred births below crifp heav'n
Whereon Hyperion's quick'ning fire doth shine;
Yield him, who all thy human fons does hate,
From forth thy plenteous bosom, one poor root!
Then fear thy fertile and conceptious womb;
Let it no more bring out ingrateful man!
Go great with tigers, dragons, wolves, and bears,
Teem with new monsters whom thy upward face
Hath to the marbled manfion all above

Never prefented! —O, a root, dear thanks!
Dry up thy meadows, vineyards, plough-torn leas,
Whereof ingrateful man with liqu'rifh draughts,
And morfels unctious, greases his pure mind,
That from it all confideration flips!

VOL. V.

H

SCENE

SCENE VI.

Enter Apemantus.

More man? plague, plague!

Apem. I was directed hither: men report,
Thou doft affect my manners, and doft use them.
Tim. 'Tis then, because thou doft not keep a dog
Whom I would imitate: confumption catch thee !
Apem. This is in thee a nature but affected,

A poor unmanly melancholy, fprung

From change of fortune. Why this fpade? this place?
This flave-like habit? and thefe looks of care?
Thy flatt'rers yet wear filk, drink wine, lie foft,
Hug their diseas'd perfumes, and have forgot
That ever Timon was. Shame not thefe weeds,
By putting on the cunning of a carper.
Be thou a flatt'rer now, and feek 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 moft vicious strain,
And call it excellent. Thou waft told thus:
Thou gav'ft thine ears, like tapfters, that bid welcome
To knaves, and all approachers: 'tis most just
That thou turn rascal; hadst thou wealth again,
Rafcals fhould hav't. Do not affume my likeness.
Tim. Were I like thee, I'd throw away myself.
Apem. Thou'aft caft away thyself, being like thyself,
So long a madman, now a fool. What, think'ft thou
That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain,
Will put thy fhirt on warm? will these mofs'd trees,
That have outliv'd the eagle, page thy heels,

And skip when thou point'ft out? will the cold brook,
Candied with ice, caudle thy morning taste

To cure thy o'er-night's furfeit ? Call the creatures,
Whose naked natures live in all the spite

Of

Of wreakful heav'n, whofe bare unhoused trunks,
To the conflicting elements expos'd,

Answer mere nature, — bid them flatter thee;
O, 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 flatter'ft misery.
Apem. I flatter not, but fay thou art a caitiff.
Tim. Why doft thou seek me out?
Apem. Only to vex thee.

Tim. Always a villain's office, or a fool's.
Dost please thyself in't?
Apem. Ay.

Tim. What a knave thou!

Apem. If thou didst put this four cold habit on
To caftigate thy pride, 'twere well; but thou
Doft it enforcedly: thou'dft courtier be
Wert thou not beggar. Willing mifery
Outftrips incertain pomp, is crown'd before it:
The one is filling ftill, never complete ;

The other, at high wish: best states, contentless,
Have a distracted and most wretched being,
Worfe than the worft, content.

Thou shouldft defire to die, being miserable.

Tim. Not by his breath, that is more miserable.
Thou art a flave, whom fortune's tender arm
With favour never clafp'd; bred but a dog.
Hadft thou, like us from our firft fwath, proceeded
Through fweet degrees that this brief world affords
To fuch as may the paffive drugs of it

Freely command, thou wouldst have plung'd thyself
In general riot, melted down thy youth
In different beds of luft, and never learn'd
The icy precepts of respect, but followed
The fugar'd game before thee. But myself,
Who had the world as my confectionary,

H 2

The