Flavius.
Oh, you Gods!
Is yon despis'd and ruinous man my lord?
Full of decay and failing? oh, monument
And wonder of good deeds, evilly bestow'd!
What change of honour desp'rate want has made?
What viler thing upon the earth, than friends,
Who can bring noblest minds to basest ends?
How rarely does it meet with this time's guise,
When man was wisht to love his enemies:
Grant, I may ever love, and rather woo
Those that would mischief me, than those that do!
H'as caught me in his eye, I will present
My honest grief to him; and, as my lord,
Still serve him with my life. My dearest master! Timon comes forward from his Cave.

Tim.
Away! what art thou?

Fla.
Have you forgot me, Sir?

Tim.
Why dost ask That? I have forgot all men.
Then if thou grantest that thou art a man,
I have forgot thee.

Fla.
An honest servant,—

Tim.
Then I know thee not:
I ne'er had honest man about me, all
I kept were knaves, to serve in meat to villains.

Fla.
The Gods are witness,
Ne'er did poor steward wear a truer grief
For his undone lord, than mine eyes for you.

Tim.
What, dost thou weep? come nearer, then I love thee,
Because thou art a woman, and disclaim'st
Flinty mankind; whose eyes do never give
But or through lust, or laughter. Pity's sleeping;
Strange times! that weep with laughing, not with weeping.

Fla.
I beg of you to know me, good my lord,
T'accept my grief, and, whilst this poor wealth lasts,
To entertain me as your steward still.

Tim.
Had I a steward
So true, so just, and now so comfortable?
It almost turns my dangerous nature wild.—
Let me behold thy face: surely, this man
Was born of woman.
Forgive my gen'ral and exceptless rashness,
Perpetual, sober Gods! I do proclaim
One honest man: mistake me not, but one:
No more, I pray; and he's a steward.
How fain would I have hated all mankind,
And thou redeem'st thy self: but all, save thee,
I fell with curses.
Methinks, thou art more honest now, than wise;
For, by oppressing and betraying me,
Thou might'st have sooner got another service:
For many so arrive at second masters,
Upon their first lord's neck. But tell me true,
(For I must ever doubt, though ne'er so sure)
Is not thy kindness subtle, covetous,
A usuring kindness, as rich men deal gifts,
Expecting in return twenty for one?

Fla.
No, my most worthy master, (in whose breast
Doubt and Suspect, alas, are plac'd too late,)
You should have fear'd false times, when you did feast;
Suspect still comes, where an estate is least.
That which I shew, heav'n knows, is meerly love,
Duty, and Zeal, to your unmatched mind,
Care of your food and living: and, believe it,

For any benefit that points to me
Either in hope, or present, I'd exchange
For this one wish, that you had power and wealth
To requite me by making rich your self.

Tim.
Look thee, 'tis so; thou singly honest man,
Here, take; the Gods out of my misery
Have sent thee treasure. Go, live rich and happy:
But thus condition'd; Thou shalt build from men:
Hate all, curse all, shew charity to none;
But let the famisht flesh slide from the bone,
Ere thou relieve the beggar. Give to dogs
What thou deny'st to men. Let prisons swallow 'em,
Debts wither 'em; be men like blasted woods,
And may diseases lick up their false bloods!
And so farewel, and thrive.

Fla.
O, let me stay, and comfort you, my Master.

Tim.
If thou hat'st curses,
Stay not, but fly, whilst thou art blest and free;
Ne'er see thou man, and let me ne'er see thee. [Exeunt severally. Enter Poet and Painter.

Pain.

As I took note of the place, it can't be far where he abides.

Poet.

What's to be thought of him? does the rumour hold for true, that's he's so full of gold?

Pain.

Certain. Alcibiades reports it: Phrynia and Timandra had gold of him: he likewise enrich'd poor stragling soldiers with great quantity. 'Tis said, he gave his steward a mighty sum.

Poet.

Then this breaking of his has been but a tryal for his friends?

Pain.

Nothing else: you shall see him a palm in Athens again, and flourish with the highest. Therefore, 'tis not amiss, we tender our loves to him, in this suppos'd distress of his: it will shew honestly in us, and is very likely to load our purposes with what they travel for, if it be a just and true report that goes of his Having.

Poet.

What have you now to present unto him?

Pain.

Nothing at this time but my visitation: only I will promise him an excellent piece.

Poet.

I must serve him so too; tell him of an intent that's coming toward him.

Pain.

Good as the best: Promising is the very air o'th' time; it opens the eyes of expectation. Performance is ever the duller for his act, and, but in the plainer and simpler kind of people, the deed is quite out of use. To promise, is most courtly, and fashionable; performance is a kind of will or testament, which argues a great sickness in his judgment that makes it.

Tim.

Excellent workman! thou canst not paint a man so bad as thy self.

Poet.

I am thinking, what I shall say I have provided for him: it must be a personating of himself; a satyr against the softness of prosperity, with a discovery of the infinite flatteries that follow youth and opulency.

Tim.

Must thou needs stand for a villain in thine own work? wilt thou whip thine own faults in other men? do so, I have gold for thee.

Poet.
Nay, let's seek him.
Then do we sin against our own estate,
When we may Profit meet, and come too late.

Pain.
True:

Poet.
While the day serves, before black-corner'd night,(35) ^note
Find what thou want'st, by free and offer'd light.
Come.

Tim.
I'll meet you at the turn—
What a God's gold, that he is worshipped
In baser temples, than where Swine do feed!
'Tis thou that rigg'st the bark, and plow'st the Wave,(36) ^note

Settlest admired rev'rence in a slave;

To thee be Worship, and thy faints for aye
Be crown'd with plagues, that thee alone obey!
'Tis fit I meet them.

Poet.
Hail! worthy Timon.

Pain.
Our late noble master.

Tim.
Have I once liv'd to see two honest men?

Poet.
Sir, having often of your bounty tasted,
Hearing you were retir'd, your friends, fal'n off,
Whose thankless natures, oh abhorred spirits!
Not all the whips of heav'n are large enough—
What! to you!
Whose star-like nobleness gave life and influence
To their whole being! I am rapt, and cannot
Cover the monstrous bulk of this ingratitude
With any size of words.

Tim.
Let it go naked, men may see't the better:(37) ^note

Pain.
He, and my self,
Have travell'd in the great shower of your gifts,
And sweetly felt it.

Tim.
Ay, you're honest men.

Pain.
We're hither come to offer you our service.

Tim.
Most honest men! why, how shall I requite you?
Can you eat roots, and drink cold water? no.

Both.
What we can do, we'll do, to do you service.

Tim.
Y'are honest men; you've heard, that I have gold;
I'm sure, you have; speak truth, y' are honest men.

Pain.
So it is said, my noble lord, but therefore
Came not my friend, nor I.

Tim.
Good honest man; thou draw'st a counterfeit
Best in all Athens; thou'rt, indeed, the best;
Thou counterfeit'st most lively.

Pain.
So, so, my lord.

Tim.
E'en so, Sir, as I say—And for thy fiction,
Why, thy verse swells with stuff so fine and smooth,
That thou art even natural in thine art.
But for all this, my honest-natur'd friends,
I must needs say, you have a little fault;
Marry, not monstrous in you; neither wish I,
You take much pains to mend.

Both.
Beseech your Honour
To make it known to us.

Tim.
You'll take it ill.

Both.
Most thankfully, my lord.

Tim.
Will you, indeed?

Both.
Doubt it not, worthy lord.

Tim.
There's ne'er a one of you but trusts a knave,
That mightily deceives you.

Both.
Do we, my lord?

Tim.
Ay, and you hear him cogg, see him dissemble,
Know his gross Patchery, love him, and feed him;
Keep in your bosom, yet remain assur'd,
That he's a made-up villain.

Pain.
I know none such, my lord.

Poet.
Nor I.

Tim.
Look you, I love you well, I'll give you gold,
Rid me these villains from your companies;
Hang them, or stab them, drown them in a draught,
Confound them by some course, and come to me,
I'll give you gold enough.

Both.
Name them, my lord, let's know them.

Tim.
You that way, and you this;—but two in company;
Each man apart, all single and alone,
Yet an arch villain keeps him company.

If where thou art, two villains shall not be, [To the Painter.
Come not near him.—If thou wouldst not reside [To the Poet.
But where one villain is, then him abandon.
Hence, pack, there's gold; ye came for gold, ye slaves;
You have work for me; there's your payment, hence!
You are an Alchymist, make gold of that:
Out, rascal dogs! [Beating and driving 'em out. Enter Flavius and two Senators.

Fla.
It is in vain that you would speak with Timon:
For he is set so only to himself,
That nothing but himself, which looks like man,
Is friendly with him.

1 Sen.
Bring us to his Cave.
It is our part and promise to th' Athenians
To speak with Timon.

2 Sen.
At all times alike
Men are not still the same; 'twas time and griefs
That fram'd him thus. Time, with his fairer hand
Offering the fortunes of his former days,
The former man may make him; bring us to him,
And chance it as it may.

Fla.
Here is his Cave:
Peace and Content be here, lord Timon! Timon!
Look out, and speak to friends: th' Athenians
By two of their most rev'rend senate greet thee;
Speak to them, noble Timon. Enter Timon out of his Cave.

Tim.
Thou Sun, that comfort'st, burn!—
Speak, and be hang'd;
For each true word a blister, and each false
Be cauterizing to the root o'th' tongue,
Consuming it with speaking.

1 Sen.
Worthy Timon,—

Tim.
—Of none but such as you, and you of Timon.

2 Sen.
The senators of Athens greet thee, Timon.

Tim.
I thank them. And would send them back the plague,
Could I but catch it for them.

1 Sen.
O, forget
What we are sorry for our selves, in thee:
The Senators, with one consent of love,
Intreat thee back to Athens; who have thought
On special dignities, which vacant lie
For thy best use and wearing.

2 Sen.
They confess
Tow'rd thee forgetfulness, too general, gross;
Which now the publick body, (which doth seldom
Play the recanter) feeling in it self
A lack of Timon's aid, hath sense withal
Of its own Fall, restraining aid to Timon;
And sends forth us to make their sorrowed Tender,
Together with a recompence more fruitful
Than their offence can weigh down by the dram;
Ay, ev'n such heaps and sums of love and wealth,
As shall to thee blot out what wrongs were theirs;
And write in thee the figures of their love,
Ever to read them thine.

Tim.
You witch me in it,
Surprize me to the very brink of tears:
Lend me a fool's heart, and a woman's eyes,
And I'll beweep these comforts, worthy senators.

1 Sen.
Therefore so please thee to return with us,
And of our Athens, thine and ours, to take
The Captainship: thou shalt be met with thanks,
Allow'd with absolute power, and thy good name
Live with authority: soon we shall drive back
Of Alcibiades th' approaches wild,
Who, like a boar too savage, doth root up
His country's peace.

2 Sen.
And shakes his threatning sword
Against the walls of Athens.

1 Sen.
Therefore, Timon—

Tim.
Well, Sir, I will; therefore I will, Sir; thus—
If Alcibiades kill my countrymen,
Let Alcibiades know this of Timon,
That Timon cares not. If he sack fair Athens,

And take our goodly aged men by th' beards,
Giving our holy virgins to the stain
Of contumelious, beastly, mad-brain'd war;
Then let him know,—and tell him, Timon speaks it;
In pity of our aged, and our youth,
I cannot chuse but tell him, that I care not.
And let him take't at worst; for their knives care not,
While you have throats to answer. For my self,
There's not a whittle in th' unruly camp,
But I do prize it at my love, before
The reverend'st throat in Athens. So I leave you
To the protection of the prosp'rous Gods,
As thieves to keepers.

Fla.
Stay not, all's in vain.

Tim.
Why, I was writing of my epitaph,
It will be seen to morrow. My long sickness
Of health and living now begins to mend,
And nothing brings me all things. Go, live still;
Be Alcibiades your plague; you his;
And last so long enough!

1 Sen.
We speak in vain.

Tim.
But yet I love my Country, and am not
One that rejoices in the common wrack,
As common Bruite doth put it.

1 Sen.
That's well spoke.

Tim.
Commend me to my loving countrymen.

1 Sen.
These words become your lips, as they pass thro' them.

2 Sen.
And enter in our ears, like great triumphers
In their applauding gates.

Tim.
Commend me to them,
And tell them, that to ease them of their griefs,
Their fears of hostile strokes, their aches, losses,
Their pangs of love, with other incident Throes,
That nature's fragile vessel doth sustain
In life's uncertain voyage, I will do
Some kindness to them, teach them to prevent
Wild Alcibiades' wrath.

2 Sen.
I like this well, he will return again.

Tim.
I have a Tree, which grows here in my Close,

That mine own use invites me to cut down,
And shortly must I fell it. Tell my friends,
Tell Athens, in the frequence of degree,
From high to low throughout, that whoso please
To stop affliction, let him take his Haste;(38) ^note

Fla.
Vex him no further, thus you still shall find him.

Tim.
Come not to me again, but say to Athens,
Timon hath made his everlasting mansion
Upon the beached verge of the salt flood;
Which once a-day with his embossed froth
The turbulent surge shall cover: Thither come,
And let my grave-stone be your oracle.
Lips, let sour words go by, and language end:
What is amiss, plague and infection mend!
Graves only be mens works, and death their gain!
Sun, hide thy beams! Timon hath done his Reign. [Exit Timon.

1 Sen.
His discontents are unremoveably coupled to his nature.

2 Sen.
Our hope in him is dead; let us return,
And strain what other means is left unto us
In our dear peril.(39) ^note

1 Sen.
It requires swift foot. [Exeunt.

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