Tim.
O blessed breeding Sun, draw from the Earth
Rotten Humidity: Below thy Sister's Orb
Infect the Air. Twin'd Brothers of one Womb,
Whose Procreation, Residence, and Birth,
Scarce is dividant, touch them with several Fortunes,
The greater scorns the lesser. Not Nature,
To whom all Sores lay Siege, can bear great Fortune
But by contempt of Nature.
Raise me this Beggar, and deny't that Lord,
The Senator shall bear Contempt Hereditary,
The Beggar native Honour.
It is the Pasture lards the Beggar's sides,
The want that makes him lean. Who dares? who dares,
In purity of Manhood, stand upright,
And say, this Man's a Flatterer? If one be,
So are they all, for every grize of Fortune
Is smooth'd by that below. The learned Pate
Ducks to the Golden Fool. All's Obloquy:
There's nothing level in our cursed Natures
But direct Villany. Therefore be abhorr'd,
All Feasts, Societies, and Throngs of Men.
His semblable, yea himself Timon disdains,
Destruction phang Mankind, Earth yield me Roots, [Digging the Earth.
Who seeks for better of thee, sawce his Pallate
With thy most operant Poison. What is here?
Gold? Yellow, glittering, precious Gold?
No Gods, I am no idle Votarist,
Roots you clear Heavens. Thus much of this will make

Black, White; Fowl, Fair; Wrong, Right;
Base, Noble; Old, Young; Coward, Valiant.
Ha, you Gods! why this? what this, you Gods? why, this
Will lug your Priests and Servants from your sides:
Pluck stout Mens Pillows from below their Heads.
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 wappen'd 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, damn'd Earth,
Thou common Whore of Mankind, that puttest odds
Among the rout of Nations, I will make thee
Do thy right Nature. [March afar off.
Ha! a Drum? Th'art 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. Enter Alcibiades with Drum and Fife in warlike manner, and Phrinia and Timandra.

Alc.
What art thou there? speak.

Tim.
A Beast, as thou art. The Canker gnaw thy Heart
For shewing me again the Eyes of Man.

Alc.
What is thy Name? is Man so hateful to thee,
That art thy self 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 Cannons, 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.

Phri.
Thy Lips rot off.

Tim.
I 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 thou 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 have 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 th' Athenian Minion, whom the World
Voic'd so regardfully?

Tim.
Art thou Timandra?

Timan.
Yes.

Tim.

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 Rose-cheek'd Youth to the Fubfast, and the Diet.

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 prithee 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 had rather be alone.

Alc.
Why fare thee well:
Here is some Gold for thee.

Tim.
Keep it, I cannot eat it.

Alc.
When I have laid proud Athens on a heap.

Tim.
War'st thou 'gainst Athens?

Alc.
Ay, Timon, and have cause.

Tim.
The Gods confound them all in thy Conquest,
And thee after, when thou hast conquer'd.

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;
Be as a planetary Plague, whome 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,
It is her Habit only, that is honest,
Her self's a Bawd. Let not the Virgin's Cheek
Make soft thy trenchant Sword; for those Milk-Paps
That through the window Barn bore at Mens Eyes,
Are not within the Leaf of Pity writ,
But set them down horrible Traitors. Spare not the Babe
Whose dimpled smiles from Fools exhaust their Mercy;
Think it a Bastard, whom the Oracle
Hath doubtfully pronounced, the 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 Priests in holy Vestments bleeding,
Shall pierce a jot. There's Gold to pay thy Soldiers.
Make large Confusion; and thy fury spent,
Confounded be thy self. Speak not, be gone.

Alc.

Hast thou Gold yet? I'll take the Gold thou givest me, not all thy Counsel.

Tim.

Dost thou, or dost thou not, Heav'ns Curse upon thee.

Both.
Give us some Gold, good Timon, hast thou more?

Tim.
Enough to make a Whore forswear her Trade,
And to make Whores, a Bawd. Hold up, you Sluts,
Your Aprons mountant, you are not Othable,
Although I know you'll swear, terribly swear,
Into strong shudders, and to heavenly Agues

Th' immortal Gods that hear you. Spare your Oaths:
I'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 Smoak,
And be no Turn-coats: yet may your pains six Months
Be quite contrary. And thatch
Your poor thin Roofs, with burthens 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.

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 Mens 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 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 Mony, bounteous Timon.

Tim.

More Whore, more Mischief first; I have given you earnest.

Alc.

Strike up the Drum towards 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 away,
And take thy Beagles with thee.

Alc.
We but offend him, strike. [Exeunt.

Tim.
That Nature being sick of Man's Unkindness
Should yet be hungry: Common Mother, thou
Whose Womb unmeasurable, and infinite Breast
Teems and feeds all; whose self same mettle
Whereof thy proud Child, arrogant Man, is puft,
Engenders the black Toad and Adder blew,
The gilden Newt, and Eyeless venom'd Worm,
With all the abhorred Births below crisp Heaven,
Whereon Hyperions quickning Fire doth shine;
Yield him, who all the Human Sons do's 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 Tygers, 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, Veins, and Plough-torn Leas,
Whereof ingrateful Man with Liquorish Draughts
And Morsels unctious, greases his pure Mind,
That from it all Considerations 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?
This Slave-like Habit, and these looks of Care?
Thy Flatterers yet wear Silk, drink Wine, lye 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 was told thus:

Thou gav'st thine Ears, like Tapsters, that bid welcome,
To Knaves, and all Approachers: 'Tis most just
That thou turn Rascal, hadst thou Wealth again,
Rascals should hav't. Do not assume my Likeness.

Tim.
Were I like thee, I'd throw away my self.

Apem.
Thou hast cast away thy self, being like thy self
A Mad-man so long, now a Fool: What think'st
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 wreekful Heaven, 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 flatter'st Misery.

Apem.
I flatter not, but say thou art a Caytiff.

Tim.
Why dost thou seek me out?

Apem.
To vex thee.

Tim.
Always a Villain's Office, or a Fool's.
Dost please thy self in't?

Apem.
Ay.

Tim.
What! a Knave too?

Apem.
If thou didst put this sowre 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
Out-lives incertain Pomp; is crown'd before:
The one is filling still, never Compleat;
The other, at high wish, best state Contentless,
Hath a distracted and most wretched Being,
Worse than the worst, Content.
Thou shouldst 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 claspt; but bred a Dog.
Hadst thou like us from our first swath proceeded,
Through sweet Degrees that this brief World affords,
To such as may the passive Drugs of it
Freely command; thou wouldst 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 Sugared Game before thee. But my self,
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 Winters 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 Sufferance, Time
Hath made thee hard in't. Why shouldst 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 a 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 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. Eating a Root.

Apem.
Here I will mend thy Feast.

Tim.
First mend my Company, take away thy self.

Apem.
So I shall mend mine own, by th'lack of thine.

Tim.
'Tis not well mended so, it is by botcht;
If not, I would it were.

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 best and truest:
For here it sleeps, and does no hired harm.

Apem.
Where ly'st a Nights, Timon?

Tim.
Under that's above me.
Where feed'st thou a 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 wouldst thou send it?

Tim.

To sawce thy Dishes.

Apem.

The middle of humanity thou never knewest, but the extremity of both ends. When thou wast in thy Gilt, and thy Perfume, they mockt thee, for too much curiosity; in thy Rags thou knowest none, but art despis'd for the contrary. There's a Medler for thee, eat it.

Tim.

On what I hate, I feed not.

Apem.

Dost hate a Medler?

Tim.

Ay, though it look like thee.

Apem.

And th'hadst hated Medlers sooner, thou shouldst have loved thy self better now. What Man did'st thou ever know unthrift, that was beloved after his Means?

Tim.

Who without those Means thou talk'st of, didst thou ever know belov'd?

Apem.

My self.

Tim.

I understand thee, thou hadst some Means to keep a Dog.

Apem.

What things in the World canst thou nearest compare to thy Flatterers?

Tim.

Women nearest; but Men, Men are the things themselves. What wouldst thou do with the World Apemantus, if it lay in thy Power?

Apem.

Give it the Beasts, to be rid of the Men.

Tim.

Wouldst thou have thy self fall in the confusion of Men, and remain a Beast with the Beasts.

Apem.

Ay, Timon.

Tim.

A beastly Ambition, which the Gods grant thee

t'attain to. If thou wert the Lyon, the Fox would beguile thee; if thou wert the Lamb, the Fox would eat thee; if thou wert the Fox, the Lyon would suspect thee, when peradventure thou wert accus'd by the Ass; if thou wert the Ass, thy dulness would torment thee; and still thou liv'st but as a Breakfast to the Wolf. If thou wert the Wolf, thy greediness would afflict thee, and oft thou shouldst hazard thy Life for thy Dinner. Wert thou the Unicorn, Pride and Wrath would confound thee, and make thine own self the Conquest of thy Fury. Wert thou a Bear, thou wouldst be kill'd by the Horse; wert thou a Horse, thou wouldst be seized by the Leopard; wert thou a Leopard, thou wert German to the Lyon, and the spots of thy Kindred, were Jurors on thy Life. All thy safety were remotion, and thy Defence absence. What Beast couldst thou be, that were not subject to a Beast; and what a Beast art thou already, and seest not thy Loss in Transformation.

Apem.
If thou couldst please me
With speaking to me thou might'st
Have hit upon it here.
The Commonwealth of Athens is become
A Forest of Beasts.

Tim.

How has the Ass broke the Wall, that thou art out of the City.

Apem.
Yonder comes a Poet and a Painter—
The Plague of Company light upon thee;
I will fear to catch it, and give way.
When I know not what else to do,
I'll see thee again.

Tim.
When there is nothing living but thee,
Thou shalt be welcome.
I had rather be a Beggar's Dog
Than Apemantus.

Apem.
Thou art the Cap
Of all the Fools alive.

Tim.
Would thou wert clean enough
To spit upon.

Apem.
A Plague on thee.
Thou art too bad to Curse.

Tim.
All Villains

That do stand by thee, are pure.

Apem.
There is no Leprosie
But what thou speak'st.

Tim.
If I name thee, I'll beat thee;
But I should infect my Hands.

Apem.
I would my Tongue
Could rot them off.

Tim.
Away thou issue of a mangy Dog!
Choler does kill me, that thou art alive;
I swound to see thee.

Apem.
Would thou wouldst burst.

Tim.

Away thou tedious Rogue, I am sorry I shall lose a Stone by thee.

Apem.

Beast!

Tim.

Slave!

Apem.

Toad!

Tim.
Rogue! Rogue! Rogue!
I am sick of this false World, and will love nought
But even the meer necessities upon't:
Then Timon presently prepare thy Grave;
Lye where the Light Foam of the Sea may beat
Thy Grave-stone daily; make thine Epitaph,
That Death in me, at others Lives may laugh.
O thou sweet King-Killer, and dear Divorce
'Twixt natural Son and Sire; thou bright defiler
Of Hymens purest Bed, thou valiant Mars,
Thou ever, young, fresh, loved, and delicate wooer,
Whose Blush doth thaw the consecrated Snow,
That lies on Dians Lap. Thou visible God,
That souldrest close Impossibilities,
And mak'st them kiss; that speak'st with every Tongue
To every purpose; O thou touch of Hearts,
Think thy slave Man Rebels, and by thy Virtue
Set them into confounding odds, that Beasts
May have the World in Empire.

Apem.
Would 'twere so,
But not till I am dead. I'll say th'hast Gold;
Thou wilt be throng'd too shortly.

Tim.
Throng'd too?

Apem.
Ay.

Tim.
Thy Back, I prithee.

Apem.
Live, and love thy Misery.

Tim.
Long live so, and so die. I am quit.

Apem.
Mo things like Men—
Eat, Timon, and abhor them. [Exit Apeman. Enter the Banditti.

1 Band.

Where should he have this Gold? It is some poor Fragment, some slender Ort of his Remainder: The meer want of Gold, and the falling from of his Friends, drove him into this Melancholy.

2 Band.
It is nois'd
He hath a Mass of Treasure.

3 Band.

Let us make the assay upon him, if he care not for't, he will supply us easily: If he covetously reserve it, how shall's get it?

2 Band.
True; for he bears it not about him:
'Tis hid.

1 Band.
Is not this he?

All.
Where?

2 Band.
'Tis his Description.

3 Band.
He; I know him.

All.
Save thee, Timon.

Tim.
Now Thieves.

All.
Soldiers, not Thives.

Tim.
Both too, and Womens Sons.

All.
We are not Thieves, but Men
That much do want.

Tim.
Your greatest want is, you want much of Meat:
Why should you want? Behold, the Earth hath Roots;
Within this Mile break forth an hundred Springs;
The Oaks bear Mast, the Briers Scarlet Hips,
The bounteous Huswife Nature, on each Bush,
Lays her full Mess before you. Want? why want?

1 Band.
We cannot live on Grass, on Berries, Water,
As Beasts, and Birds, and Fishes.

Tim.
Nor on the Beasts themseves, the Birds and Fishes,
You must eat Men. Yet thanks I must you con,
That you are Thieves profest; that you work not
In holier Shapes; for there is boundless Theft

In limited Professions. Rascal Thieves,
Here's Gold. Go, suck the subtle Blood o'th Grape,
'Till the high Feaver seeth your Blood to Froth,
And so scape hanging. Trust not the Physician,
His Antidotes are Poison, and he slays
More than you Rob: Take wealth, and live together,
Do Villainy do, since you protest to do't,
Like Workmen, I'll Example you with Thievery:
The Sun's a Thief, and with his great Attraction
Robs the vast Sea. The Moon's an Arrant Thief,
And her pale fire she snatches from the Sun.
The Sea's a Thief, whose liquid Surge resolves
The Moon into Salt Tears. The Earth's a Thief,
That feeds and breeds by a composture stoln
From gen'ral Excrement: Each things a Thief.
The Laws, your curb and whip, in their rough Power
Has uncheck'd theft. Love not your selves, away,
Rob one another, there's more Gold; Cut Throats;
All that you meet are Thieves: To Athens go,
Break open Shops, nothing can you Steal
But Thieves do lose it: Steal not less, for this I give you,
And Gold confound you howsoe'er: Amen. [Exit.

3 Band.

H'as almost charm'd me from my Profession, by perswading me to it.

1 Band.

'Tis in the malice of Mankind, that he thus advises us, not to have us thrive in our mystery.

2 Band.
I'll believe him as an Enemy,
And give over my Trade.

1 Band.

Let us first see Peace in Athens, there is no time so miserable but a Man may be true.

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