Pain.

As I took note of the place, it cannot be far where he abides.

Poet.

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

Pain.

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

Poet.

Then this breaking of his has been but a try 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 supposed distress of his: it will show honestly in us, and is very likely to load our purposes with what they travail for, 11Q0960 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' the 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 of saying 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 is thyself.

Poet.

I am thinking, what I shall say I have provided for him. It must be a personating of himself: a satire 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;
When the day serves, before black-corner'd night,
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 worshipp'd in a baser temple,
Than where swine feed!
'Tis thou that rigg'st the bark, and plough'st the foam;
Settlest admired reverence in a slave:

To thee be worship^{7 note}; and thy saints for aye
Be crown'd with plagues, that thee alone obey!
Fit I meet them. [Advancing.

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 open bounty tasted,
Hearing you were retir'd, your friends fall'n off,
Whose thankless natures—O, abhorred spirits!
Not all the whips of heaven 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:
You, that are honest, by being what you are,
Make them best seen, and known.

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

Tim.
Ay, you are honest men.

Pain.
We are 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.
You are honest men. You have heard that I have gold;
I am sure you have: speak truth; you are honest men.

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

Tim.
Good honest men!—Thou draw'st a counterfeit^{8 note}
Best in all Athens: thou art, indeed, the best;
Thou counterfeit'st most lively.

Pain.
So, so, my lord.

Tim.
Even 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, 'tis 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 never a one of you but trusts a knave,
That mightily deceives you.

Both.
Do we, my lord?

Tim.
Ay, and you hear him cog, see him dissemble,
Know his gross patchery, love him, 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^{9 note}:—

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 would'st 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 done work for me^{1 note}
, there's payment: hence!
You are an alchymist, make gold of that.
Out, rascal dogs! [Exit, beating them out. SCENE II. The Same. Enter Flavius, and two Senators.

Flav.
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 the 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.

Flav.
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 reverend senate, greet thee:
Speak to them, noble Timon. Enter Timon.

Tim.
Thou sun, that comfort'st, burn!—Speak, and be hang'd:
For each true word, a blister; and each false
Be as a cauterizing to the root o' the 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 ourselves in thee.
The senators, with one consent of love,
Entreat thee back to Athens; who have thought
On special dignities, which vacant lie
For thy best use and wearing.

2 Sen.
They confess
Toward thee forgetfulness, too general, gross;
Which now the public body, which doth seldom
Play the recanter, feeling in itself
A lack of Timon's aid, hath sense withal
Of its own fall^{2 note}
, restraining aid to Timon;
And send forth us, to make their sorrowed render,
Together with a recompense, more fruitful

Than their offence can weigh down by the dram;
Ay, even 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;
Surprise 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:—so 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 threat'ning 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. But if he sack fair Athens,
And take our goodly aged men by the 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 choose 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 myself,
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 prosperous gods,
As thieves to keepers.

Flav.
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 wreck,
As common bruit^{3 note} 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 through 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 some kindness do them.
I'll 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 sequence of degree,
From high to low throughout, that whoso please
To stop affliction, let him take his haste,
Come hither, ere my tree hath felt the axe,
And hang himself.—I pray you, do my greeting.

Flav.
Trouble him no farther; 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;
Whom 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 men's works, and death their gain.
Sun, hide thy beams: Timon hath done his reign. [Exit Timon.

1 Sen.

His discontents are unremovably coupled to 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^{4 note}.

1 Sen.
It requires swift foot. [Exeunt. SCENE III. The Walls of Athens. Enter two Senators, and a Messenger.

1 Sen.
Thou hast painfully discover'd: are his files
As full as thy report?

Mess.
I have spoke the least;
Besides, his expedition promises
Present approach.

2 Sen.
We stand much hazard, if they bring not Timon.

Mess.
I met a courier, one mine ancient friend,
Whom, though in general part we were oppos'd,
Yet our old love made a particular force,

And made us speak like friends:—this man was riding
From Alcibiades to Timon's cave,
With letters of entreaty, which imported
His fellowship i' the cause against your city,
In part for his sake mov'd. Enter Senators from Timon.

1 Sen.
Here come our brothers.

3 Sen.
No talk of Timon; nothing of him expect.—
The enemies' drum is heard, and fearful scouring
Doth choke the air with dust. In, and prepare:
Ours is the fall, I fear, our foes the snare. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. The Woods. Timon's Cave, and a Tomb-stone seen. Enter a Soldier, seeking Timon.

Sold.
By all description this should be the place.
Who's here? speak, ho!—No answer?—What is this?
Timon is dead, who hath outstretch'd his span:
Some beast rear'd this^{5 note}; there does not live a man. 11Q0961
Dead, sure, and this his grave.—What's on this tomb
I cannot read; the character I'll take with wax:
Our captain hath in every figure skill;
An ag'd interpreter, though young in days.
Before proud Athens he's set down by this,
Whose fall the mark of his ambition is. [Exit.

SCENE V. Before the Walls of Athens. Trumpets sound. Enter Alcibiades, and Forces.

Alcib.
Sound to this coward and lascivious town
Our terrible approach. [A Parley sounded. Enter Senators on the Walls.
Till now you have gone on, and fill'd the time
With all licentious measure, making your wills
The scope of justice: till now, myself, and such
As slept within the shadow of your power,
Have wander'd with our travers'd arms, and breath'd
Our sufferance vainly. Now the time is flush,
When crouching marrow, in the bearer strong,
Cries of itself, “No more:” now breathless wrong
Shall sit and pant in your great chairs of ease;
And pursy insolence shall break his wind
With fear, and horrid flight.

1 Sen.
Noble, and young,
When thy first griefs were but a mere conceit,
Ere thou hadst power, or we had cause of fear,
We sent to thee; to give thy rages balm,
To wipe out our ingratitude with loves
Above their quantity.

2 Sen.
So did we woo
Transformed Timon to our city's love,
By humble message, and by promis'd means:
We were not all unkind, nor all deserve
The common stroke of war.

1 Sen.
These walls of ours
Were not erected by their hands, from whom
You have receiv'd your grief: nor are they such,

That these great towers, trophies, and schools should fall
For private faults in them.

2 Sen.
Nor are they living,
Who were the motives that you first went out;
Shame, that they wanted cunning^{6 note}, in excess
Hath broke their hearts. March, noble lord,
Into our city with thy banners spread:
By decimation, and a tithed death,
(If thy revenges hunger for that food
Which nature loaths) take thou the destin'd tenth;
And by the hazard of the spotted die,
Let die the spotted.

1 Sen.
All have not offended;
For those that were, it is not square to take,
On those that are, revenge: 11Q0962 crimes, like lands,
Are not inherited. Then, dear countryman,
Bring in thy ranks, but leave without thy rage:
Spare thy Athenian cradle, and those kin,
Which in the bluster of thy wrath must fall
With those that have offended. Like a shepherd,
Approach the fold, and cull th' infected forth,
But kill not altogether.

2 Sen.
What thou wilt,
Thou rather shalt enforce it with thy smile,
Than hew to't with thy sword.

1 Sen.
Set but thy foot
Against our rampir'd gates, and they shall ope,
So thou wilt send thy gentle heart before,
To say, thou'lt enter friendly.

2 Sen.
Throw thy glove,
Or any token of thine honour else,
That thou wilt use the wars as thy redress,
And not as our confusion, all thy powers

Shall make their harbour in our town, till we
Have seal'd thy full desire.

Alcib.
Then, there's my glove:
Descend, and open your uncharged ports.
Those enemies of Timon's, and mine own,
Whom you yourselves shall set out for reproof,
Fall, and no more; and,—to atone your fears^{7 note}
With my more noble meaning,—not a man
Shall pass his quarter, or offend the stream
Of regular justice in your city's bounds,
But shall be remedied to your public laws^{8 note}
At heaviest answer.

Both.
'Tis most nobly spoken.

Alcib.
Descend, and keep your words. [The Senators descend, and open the Gates. Enter a Soldier^{9 note}.

Sold.
My noble general, Timon is dead;
Entomb'd upon the very hem o' the sea:
And on his grave-stone this insculpture, which
With wax I brought away, whose soft impression
Interprets for my poor ignorance.

Alcib. [Reads.]
“Here lies a wretched corse, of wretched soul bereft:
Seek not my name. A plague consume you wicked caitiffs left!
Here lie I Timon; who, alive, all living men did hate:
Pass by, and curse thy fill; but pass, and stay not here thy gait^{1 note}

These well express in thee thy latter spirits:
Though thou abhorr'dst in us our human griefs,
Scorn'dst our brain's flow, and those our droplets which
From niggard nature fall, yet rich conceit
Taught thee to make vast Neptune weep for aye
On thy low grave on faults forgiven. Dead
Is noble Timon; of whose memory
Hereafter more.—Bring me into your city,
And I will use the olive with my sword:
Make war breed peace; make peace stint war; make each
Prescribe to other, as each other's leech.—
Let our drums strike. [Exeunt.

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