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Whofe proof, nor yells of mothers, maids, nof 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 thy felf! Speak not, be gone.

Alc. Haft thou gold yet?

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

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Tim. Doft thou, or doft thou not, heav'n's curfe upon thee! Both. Give us fome gold, good Timon: haft thou more I Tim. Enough to make a whore forfwear her trade, And to make whores abundant. Hold up, you fluts, Your aprons mountant ; your not oathable, Although I know you'll fwear, terribly fwear Into ftrong fhudders and to heavenly agues Th'immortal Gods that hear you. Spare your oaths I'll truft to your conditions, be whores ftill. And he whofe pious breath feeks to convert you, Be ftrong in whore, allure him, burn him up: Let your close fire predominate his smoak,

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And be no turn-coats: yet may your pains exterior duck?
Be quite contrary; make falfe hair, and thatch
Your poor thin roofs with burthens of the dead,
Some that were hang'd, no matter:

Wear them, betray with them; and whore on fill.
Paint till a horfe may mire upon your face ;

A

pox of wrinkles!

Beth. Well, more gold

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Believe that we'll do any thing for gold.

Tim. Confumptions fow

In hollow bones of man, ftrike their sharp fhins,
And mar mens fparring. Crack the lawyer's voice,
That he may never more falfe title plead,

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Nor found his quillets fhrilly. Hoar the Flamen,

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That fcolds against the quality of flesh,

And not believes himfelf. Down with the nose,
Down with it flat, take the bridge quite away

Of him, that his particular to forfee

!

Smells from the gen?ral weald Make curl'da patel ruffians → Quite bald, and let the unfcart'd braggarts of

The war derive fome pain from you. Plague all;

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That

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. More counsel with more mony, bounteous Timon. Tim. More whore, more mifchief first; I've given you earneft.

A. Strike up the drum tow'rds Albens; 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'ft well of me.

Alc. Call'st thou that harm?

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

And take thy beagles with thee.

Alc. We but offend him: ftrike.

[Exeunt Alcib. Phrynia and Timandrą. SCENE V.

Tim. That Nature being fick of man's unkindness Should yet be hungry! Common mother, thou Whose womb unmeasurable, and infinite breaft Teems, and feeds all; oh thou! whofe felf-fame mettle Whereof thy proud child arrogant man is puft, Engenders the black toad and adder blue,

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The gilded newt, and eyeless venom'd worm ;
With all th'abhorred births below crifp heav'n
Whereon Hyperion's quickning fire doth fhine;
Yield him, who all thy human fons do's hate,
From forth thy plenteous bofom, one poor root!
Then fear thy fertile and conceptious womb
Let it no more bring out ingrateful man.
Go great with tygers, dragons, wolves and bears,
Teem with new monfters 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 liquʼrish draughts,
And morfels unctious, greases his pure mind,
That from it all confideration flips

SCENE

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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 these looks of care?
Thy flatt'rers yet wear filk, drink wine, lye foft,
Hug their difeas'd perfumes, and have forgot
That ever Timon was: Shame not these 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 obferve
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 moft juft
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 my self.
Apem. Thou'aft caft away thyself, being like thy felf,
So long a mad-man, now a fool. What, think' thou
That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain,
Will put thy fhirt on warm? will these mofs'd trees
That have out-liv'd the eagle, page thy heels,
And skip when thou point' out? will the cold brook,
Candied with ice, cawdle thy morning taste

To cure thy o'er-night's furfeit: Call the creatures
Whose naked natures live in all the spight

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

Answer meer nature; bid them flatter thee;
Oh! thou shalt find

Tim. A fool of thee; depart.

Apem. I love thee better now than e'er İ did.
Tim, I hate thee worfe: thou flatter'st misery.

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Apem

Apem. I flatter not, but fay thou art a caytiff.
Tim. Why doft thou seek me out?
Apem. Only to vex thee.

Tim., Always a villain's office, or a fool's.
Doft please thy felf in't?

Apem. Ay.

Tim. What a knave thou!

Apem. If thou didft put this fowre cold habit on
Tó caftigate thy pride, 'twere well; but thou
Doft it enforcedly: thou'dft courtier be
Wert thou not beggar. Willing mifery
Out-ftrips incertain pomp, is crown'd before it :
The one is filling ftill, never compleat ;
The other, at high wifh: Beft ftates, contentlefs,
Have a distracted and moft wretched being,
Worfe than the worft, content.

Thou shouldft defire to die, being miferable.

Tim. Not by his breath, that is more miferable.
Thou art a flave, whom fortune's tender arm
With favour never clafpt; 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 thy felf
In general riot, melted down thy youth

In different beds of luft, and never learn'd
The icy precepts of refpect, but followed

The fugar'd game before thee. But my felf,
Who had the world as my confectionary,

The mouths, the tongues, the eyes, the hearts of men
At duty more than I could frame employments;
That numberless upon me ftuck, as leaves

Do on the oak; yet with one winter's brush
Fall'n from their boughs, have left me open, bare
For every ftorm that blows; I to bear this,

That never knew but better, is fome burthen.

Thy nature did commence in fuff'rance, time

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Hath made thee hard in't. Why fhould'ft thou hate men? They never flatter'd thee. What haft thou given?

If thou wilt curfe, thy father that poor rag
Must be thy fubject, who in fpight put ftuff
To fome the-beggar, and compounded thee
Poor rogue hereditary. Hence! be gone

If thou hadft not been born the worst of men,
Thou hadft been knave and flatterer.
Apem. Art thou proud yet?
Tim. Ay, that I am not thee.
Apem. I, that I was no prodigal.
Tim. I, that I am one now:

Were all the wealth I have, fhut up in thee,
I'd give thee leave to hang it.

Get thee gone
That the whole life of Athens were in this!
Thus would I eat it. *

[Eating a root

Apem. What wouldst thou have to Athens?
Tim. Thee thither in a whirlwind; if thou wilt,
Tell them there I have gold; look, so I have.
Apem. Here is no use for gold.

Tim. The beft and trueft:

For here it fleeps, and does no hired harm.
Apem. Where ly'ft a-nights, Timon ?
Tim. Under that's above me.

Where feed'ft thou a-days, Apemantus ?
Apem. Where

My ftomach finds meat; rather where I eat it.
Tim. Would poifon were obedient, knew my mind!
Apem. Where wouldst thou send it then?

Tim. To fawce thy dishes,

Apem. The middle of humanity thou never knewest, But the extremity of both ends. When thou waft in thý gilt, and thy perfume, they mockt thee, for too much Courtefy; in thy rags thou knoweft none, but art despis'è

Thus would I eat it.

Apem. Here will I mend thy feaft.

Tim. Firft mend my company, take away thy felf.
Apem. So I fhall mend my own, by th' lack of thine.
Tim. 'Tis not well mended fo, it is but botcht;

If not, I would it were.

Apem, What wouldst thou, &c.

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