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 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 as 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.

Phry.
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'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 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 the rose-cheek'd youth
To th' subfast, 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 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'ad 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.
War'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;
&plquo;Be as a planetary plague, when Jove
&plquo;Will o'er some high-vic'd city hang his poison
&plquo;In the sick air: Let not thy sword skip one,
&plquo;Pity not honour'd age for his white beard,
&plquo;He is an usurer. Strike me the matron,
&plquo;It is her habit only that is honest,
&plquo;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,
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 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 by thy self. 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,
And to make whore a bawd. Hold up, you sluts,
Your aprons mountant, you're 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 predomitate his smoak,
And be no turn-coats: yet may your pains six months
Be quite contrary. Make false hair, and thatch
Your poor thin roofs with burthens 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 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 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
He 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'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. [Exeunt.

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