Tim.
O blessed, breeding sun, draw from the earth
Rotten humidity: Infect the air
Below thy sister's orb. All is oblique;
There's nothing level in our cursed natures,
But direct villany. Then be abhorr'd,
All feasts, societies, and throngs of men!
Destruction phang mankind! Earth, yield me roots! [Digging the earth.
Who seeks for better of thee, sawce his palate
With thy most operant poison!—What is here?
Gold? yellow, glittering, precious gold?
No, Gods, I am no idle votarist.
Roots, you clear Heav'ns! thus much of this will make
Black, white; foul, fair; wrong, right;
Base, noble; old, young; coward, valiant.
You Gods! why, this
Will lug your priests and servants from your sides:
This yellow slave
Will knit and break religions; bless th' accurs'd;
Make the hoar leprosie ador'd; place thieves,
And give them title, knee, and approbation,
With senators on the bench: this is it,
That makes the weeping widow wed again;
She, whom the spittle-house and ulcerous sores
Would cast the gorge at, this embalms and spices
To th' April day again. Come, damned earth,
Thou common whore of mankind, that putt'st odds
Among the rout of nations, I will make thee
Do thy right nature.—[March afar off.] Ha, a drum?—thou'rt quick,
But yet I'll bury thee—thou'lt go, (strong thief)

When gouty keepers of thee cannot stand.
Nay, stay thou out for earnest. [Keeping some gold. Enter Alcibiades with drum and fife in warlike manner.

Alc.
What art thou there? speak.

Tim.
A beast, as thou art. Cankers gnaw thy heart,
For shewing me again the eyes of man!

Alc.
What is thy name? is man so hateful to thee,
That art thyself a man?

Tim.
I hate mankind.
For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog,
That I might love thee something.

Alc.
“Gods, 'tis he!
“This wretched thing is Timon; sure his wits
Are drown'd and lost in his calamities.
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 suns to borrow of.

Alc.
What friendship may I do thee, noble Timon?

Tim.
None, but to maintain my opinion.

Alc.
What is it, Timon?

Tim.
Promise me friendship, but perform none.
I pr'ythee beat thy drum, and get thee gone.

Alc.
I am thy friend, and pity thee, dear Timon.

Tim.
How dost thou pity him, whom thou dost trouble?
I'd rather be alone.

Alc.
Why, fare thee well,
Here's gold for thee.

Tim.
Keep it, I cannot eat it.

Alc.
When I have laid proud Athens in a heap—

Tim.
War'st thou 'gainst Athens?

Alc.
Ay, and in thy cause.

Tim.
The Gods confound them all then in thy conquest,
And, after thee, go on, here's gold, go on;
Be as a planetary plague, when Jove
Will o'er some high-vic'd city hang his poison
In the sick air; Let not thy sword skip one,
Pity not honour'd age for his white beard,
He is an usurer. Strike me the matron,
It is her habit only that is honest,
Herself's a bawd.—Let not the virgin's cheek
Make soft thy trenchant sword. 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 sans remorse. Swear against objects,
Put armour on thine ears, and on thine eyes;
Whose proof, nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes,
Nor sight of priest in holy vestments bleeding,
Shall pierce a jot. I've gold to pay thy soldiers.
Make large confusion; and thy fury spent,
Confounded be thyself! Speak not, be gone. [Exit Timon.

Alc.
“Phocion!

Pho.
“My Lord.

Alc.
“Be it your care to guard
“This place and Timon; you perceive his humour,
“And therefore cross him not, but spread your party
“In secret round this thicket, where he haunts.
“It seems he has found a treasure; what it is,
“Or how in's present mood he may dispose on't,
“I know not—Therefore, Phocion, look you to it.
“Farewell. For Athens, hoa! Bid the line march. [Exeunt.

Tim.
That nature being sick of man's unkindness,
Should yet be hungry! O thou common mother,
Yield him, who all thy human sons does hate,
From forth thy plenteous bosom, one poor root!
Ensear thy fertile and conceptious womb;
Let it no more bring out ingrateful man. Enter Flavius.

Flav.
Oh, you Gods!
Is yon despised and ruinous man my Lord?
Full of decay and failing? oh monument
And wonder of good deeds, evilly bestow'd!
H'has 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?

Flav.
Have you forgot me, Sir?

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

Flav.
An honest servant,—

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

Flav.
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; “my dear daughter!

“(Oh! comfort her sweet Heav'n! where'er she is!)
“She is a woman too.

Flav.
“Ay, and the gent'lest,
“Purest, and best that ever bore the name.
I beg of you to know me, good my Lord,
T'accept my grief, and whilst this poor wealth lasts,
“Which your dear daughter's piety has sent you,
To entertain me as your steward still.

Tim.
Have I then friends,
So true, so just, and now so comfortable?
It almost turns my dangerous nature mild,
Let me behold thy face:
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 thyself: but all, save thee,
I fell with curses. Yet, declare the truth,
Is not thy kindness subtle, covetous,
A usuring kindness, as rich men deal gifts,
Expecting in return twenty for one?

Flav.
No, my most worthy master, (in whose breast
Doubt and suspect, alas, are plac'd too late,)
That which I shew, Heav'n knows, is meerly love.

Tim.
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.

Flav.
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. [Exit Flavius. 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?
This slave-like habit, and these looks of care?
Thy flatt'rers yet wear silk, drink wine, lie soft;
Hug their diseas'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 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; do not assume my likeness.

Tim.
Were I like thee, I'd throw away myself.

Apem.
Thou'st cast away thyself, being like thyself,
So long a mad-man, now a fool. What, think'st thou
That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain,
Will put thy shirt on warm? will these moist trees
That have out-liv'd the eagle, page thy heels,
And skip when thou point'st out? will the cold brook,
Candied with ice, cawdle thy morning taste
To cure thy o'er-night's surfeit? 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 I did.

Tim.
I hate thee worse.

Apem.
Why?

Tim.
Thou flatt'rest misery.

Apem.
I flatter not; but say, thou art a caytiff.
If thou didst put this sowre cold habit on
To castigate thy pride, 'twere well; but thou
Dost it enforcedly: thou'dst courtier be,
Wert thou not beggar.

Tim.
Thou art a slave, whom fortune's tender arm
With favour never claspt; bred but a dog.
Hadst thou like us, from our first swath proceeded
Through sweet degrees, 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 followed
The sugar'd game before thee. But myself,
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 stuck, as leaves
Do on the oak; have with one winter's brush
Fall'n from their boughs, and left me open, bare
For every storm that blows. I to bear this,
That never knew but better, is some burthen.
Thy nature did commence in suff'rance, 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 spight 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 flatterer. [Exit.

Apem.
Thou'rt too bad to curse. End of the Fourth Act.

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