Timandra.
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 am Misanthropos, and hate mankind.
For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog,
That I might love thee something.
Alc.
I know thee well;
But in thy fortunes am unlearn'd, and strange.
Tim.
I know thee too, and more than that I know thee,
I not desire to know. Follow thy drum,
With man's blood paint the ground. Gules! gules!
Religious Canons, civil Laws are cruel;
Then what should war be? this fell whore of thine
Hath in her more destruction than thy sword,
For all her cherubin look.
Phry.
Thy lips rot off!
Tim.
* noteI will not kiss thee, then the Rot returns
To thine own lips again.
Alc.
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.
Noble Timon, what friendship may I do thee?
Tim.
None, but to maintain my opinion.
Alc.
What is it, Timon?
Tim.
Promise me friendship, but perform none. If
-- 238 --
* notethou wilt not promise, the Gods plague thee, for thou
art a man; if thou dost perform, confound thee, for
thou art a man!
Alc.
I've heard in some sort of thy miseries.
Tim.
Thou saw'st them when I had prosperity.
Alc.
I see them now; then was a blessed time.
Tim.
As thine is now, held with a brace of harlots.
Timan.
Is this the Athenian minion, whom the world
Voic'd so regardfully?
Tim.
Art thou Timandra?
Timan.
Yes.
Tim.
8 note
Be a whore still. They love thee not that use thee,
Give them diseases, leaving with thee their lust;
Make use of thy salt hours, season the slaves
For tubs and baths, bring down the rose-cheek'd youth
9 noteTo th' Tub-fast, and the diet.
-- 239 --
Timan.
Hang thee, monster!
Alc.
Pardon him, sweet Timandra, for his wits
Are drown'd and lost in his calamities.
—I have but little gold of late, brave Timon,
The want whereof doth daily make revolt
In my penurious band. I heard and griev'd,
How cursed Athens, mindless of thy worth,
Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbour states,
But for thy sword and fortune, trod upon them—
Tim.
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 on a heap—
Tim.
Warr'st thou 'gainst Athens?
Alc.
Ay, Timon, and have cause.
Tim.
The Gods confound them all then in thy Conquest,
And after, thee, when thou hast conquered!
Alc.
Why me, Timon?
Tim.
That by killing of villains thou wast born to
conquer my country.
Put up thy gold. Go on—Here's gold—Go on;
1 note
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 counterfeit matron,
-- 240 --
It is her habit only that is honest,
Herself's a bawd. Let not the virgin's cheek
Make soft thy trenchant sword; for those milk-paps,
2 note
That through the window-barn bore at mens' eyes,
Are not within the leaf of pity writ;
Set them down horrible traitors. Spare not the babe,
Whose dimpled smiles from fools 3 noteexhaust their mercy;
Think it a * notebastard, 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. There's gold to pay thy soldiers.
Make large confusion; and, thy fury spent,
Confounded be thyself! Speak not, be gone.
Alc.
Hast thou gold yet?
I'll take the gold thou giv'st me, not thy counsel.
Tim.
Dost thou, or dost thou not, heav'n's curse upon thee!
Both.
Give us some gold, good Timon. Hast thou more?
Tim.
Enough to make a whore forswear her trade,
4 note
And to make whores a bawd. Hold up, you sluts,
-- 241 --
Your aprons mountant; you're not othable,
Although, I know, you'll sweat, terribly swear
Into strong shudders, and to heav'nly agues,
Th' immortal Gods that hear you. Spare your oaths:
5 noteI'll trust to your conditions. Be whores still.
And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you,
Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up;
Let your close fire predominate his smoke,
And be no turn-coats.
6 note
Yet may your pains six months be quite contrary.
And thatch
-- 242 --
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—What then?
Believe, that we'll do any thing for gold.
Tim.
Consumptions sow
In hollow bones of man, strike their sharp shins,
And mar 7 notemens' 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, 8 note
that his particular to foresee
-- 243 --
Smells from the gen'ral 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 source 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 money, bounteous Timon.
Tim.
More whore, more mischief, first. I've given you earnest.
Alc.
Strike up the drum tow'rds Athens. Farewel, Timon;
If I thrive well, I'll visit thee again.
Tim.
If I hope well, I'll never see thee more.
Alc.
I never did thee harm.
Tim.
Yes, thou spok'st 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. Strike.
[Drum beats. Exeunt Alcibiades, Phrynia and Timandra.
Samuel Johnson [1765], The plays of William Shakespeare, in eight volumes, with the corrections and illustrations of Various Commentators; To which are added notes by Sam. Johnson (Printed for J. and R. Tonson [and] C. Corbet [etc.], London) [word count] [S11001].
