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 ;-some that were hang'd,
No matter :-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;-What then?Believ't, that we'll do any thing for gold.

Tim. Consumptions sow

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 souce 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.

* Subtilties.

Call'st thou that harm?

+ Entomb.

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

Alcib. Strike.

We but offend him.

[Drum beats. Exeunt Alcibiades, Phrynia, and Timandra.

Tim. That nature, being sick of man's unkindness,
Should yet be hungry !-Common mother, thou,
[Digging.
Whose womb unmeasurable, and infinite breast*,
Teems, and feeds all; whose self-same 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 crisp + heaven
Whereon Hyperion's quickening fire doth shine;
Yield him, who all thy human sons doth hate,
From forth thy plenteous bosom one poor root!
Ensear 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 mansion all above

Never presented!-O, a root,-Dear thanks!
Dry up thy marrows, vines, and plough-torn leas;
Whereof ingrateful man, with liquorish draughts,
And morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind,
That from it all consideration slips!

Enter Apemantus.

More man? Plague! plague!

Apem. I was directed hither: Men report, Thou dost affect my manners, and dost use them. Tim. 'Tis then, because thou dost not keep a dog Whom I would imitate: Consumption catch thee! Apem. This is in thee a nature but affected; A poor unmanly melancholy, sprung

From change of fortune. Why this spade? this place?

Boundless surface. The serpent called the blind-worm. Bent.

This slave-like habit? and these looks of care?
Thy flatterers yet wear silk, drink wine, lie soft;
Hug their diseased perfumes*, and have forgot
That ever Timon was. Shame not these woods,
By putting on the cunning of a carper†.
Be thou a flatterer now, and seek 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 most vicious strain,
And call it excellent: Thou wast told thus ;

Thou gav'st thine ears, like tapsters, that bid wel

come,

To knaves, and all approachers: 'Tis most just,
That thou turn rascal; had'st thou wealth again,
Rascals should hav't. Do not assume my likeness.
Tim. Were I like thee, I'd throw away myself.
Apem. Thou hast cast away thyself, being like
thyself;

A madman so long, now a fool: What, think'st
That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain,
Will put thy shirt on warm? Will these moss'd trees,
That have outliv'd the eagle, page thy heels,
And skip when thou point'st out? Will the cold
brook,

Candied with ice, caudle thy morning taste,
To cure thy o'er-night's surfeit? call the creatures,-
Whose naked natures live in all the spite

Of wreakful heaven; whose 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.

Apem.

Tim.

Why?

Thou flatter'st misery.

Apem. I flatter not; but say, thou art a caitiff.
Tim. Why dost thou seek me out?

i. e. Their diseased perfumed mistresses.
i. e. Shame not these woods by finding fault.

Apem.

To vex thee.

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

Apem.
Tim.

Ay.

What! a knave too?

Apem. If thou didst put this sour-cold habit on To castigate thy pride, 'twere well: but thou Dost it enforcedly; thou'dst courtier be again, Wert thou not beggar. Willing misery Outlives incertain pomp, is crown'd before*: The one is filling still, never complete;

The other, at high wish: Best state, contentless,
Hath a distracted and most wretched being,
Worse than the worst, content.

Thou should'st desire to die, being miserable.
Tim. Not by his breath †, that is more miserable.
Thou art a slave, whom Fortune's tender arm
With favour never clasp'd; but bred a dog.
Hadst thou, like us, from our first swath‡, pro-
ceeded

The sweet degrees that this brief world affords
To such as may the passive drugs of it

Freely command, thou would'st have plung'd thyself

In general riot; melted down thy youth
In different beds of lust; and never learn'd
The icy precepts of respect §, but follow'd
The sugar'd game before thee. But myself,
Who had the world as my confectionary;

The mouths, the tongues, the eyes, and hearts of

men

At duty, more than I could frame employment;
That numberless upon me stuck, as leaves
Do on the oak, have with one winter's brush
Fell from their boughs, and left me open, bare
For every storm that blows;-I, to bear this,
That never knew but better, is some burden:

* i. e. Arrives sooner at the completion of its wishes.
By his voice, sentence.
From infancy.
§ The cold admonitions of cautious prudence.

Thy nature did commence in sufferance, time Hath made thee hard in't. Why should'st thou

hate men?

They never flatter'd thee: What hast thou given?
If thou wilt curse,- thy father, that poor rag,
Must be thy subject; who, in spite, put stuff
To some she-beggar, and compounded thee
Poor rogue hereditary. Hence! be gone!-
If thou hadst not been born the worst of men,
Thou hadst been a knave, and flatterer.

Apem.

Tim. Ay, that I am not thee.

Apem.

No prodigal.

Tim.

Art thou proud yet?

I, that I was

I, that I am one now;

Were all the wealth I have, shut 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.

Apem.

[Eating a root. Here; I will mend thy feast. [Offering him something. Tim. First mend my company, take away thyself. Apem. So I shall mend mine own, by the lack of

thine.

Tim. "Tis not well mended so, it is but botch'd; If not, I would it were.

Apem. What would'st 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.
For here it sleeps, and does no hired harm.
Apem. Where ly'st o'nights, Timon?

The best, and truest :

Tim.

Under that's above me.

Where feed'st thou o'days, Apemantus?

Apem. Where my stomach finds meat; or, rather, where I eat it.

Tim. 'Would poison were obedient, and knew my mind!

Apem. Where would'st thou send it?