Maintain my opinion. Alcib. 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! Alcib. I have heard in some sort of thy miseries. Tim. Thou saw'st them, when I had prosperity. Alcib. I see them now; then was a blessèd 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. 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 Timan. Hang thee, monster! Alcib. Pardon him, sweet Timandra; for his wits Are drown'd and lost in his calamities. I have but little gold of late, brave Timon, Tim. I prithee, beat thy drum, and get thee gone. Alcib. Why, fare thee well: Here is some gold for thee. Tim. Keep it, I cannot eat it. Alcib. When I have laid proud Athens on a heap, Tim. Warr'st thou 'gainst Athens ? Alcib. Ay, Timon, and have cause. Tim. The gods confound them all in thy conquest; And thee after, when thou hast conquer'd! Alcib. Why me, Timon? Tim. That, by killing of villains, Will o'er some high-vic'd city hang his poison Pity not honour'd age for his white beard,— He is an usurer: strike me the counterfeit matron,— Herself's a bawd: let not the virgin's cheek Make soft thy trenchant sword; for those milk-paps, But set them down horrible traitors: spare not the babe, Hath doubtfully pronounc'd thy(76) throat shall cut, Confounded be thyself! Speak not, be gone. Alcib. Hast thou gold yet? I'll take the gold thou giv'st me, Not all thy counsel. Tim. Dost thou, or dost thou not, heaven's curse upon thee! Phr. and Timan. Give us some gold, good Timon: hast thou more? Tim. Enough to make a whore forswear her trade, And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you, And be no turncoats: yet may your pains, six months, A pox of wrinkles! Phr. and Timan. Well, more gold:-what then?Believe't, that we'll do any thing for gold. Tim. Consumptions sow In hollow bones of man; strike their sharp shins, And not believes himself: down with the nose, 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! Phr. and Timan. More counsel with more money, bounteous Timon. Tim. More whore, more mischief first; I have given you earnest. Alcib. Strike up the drum towards Athens!-Farewell, If I thrive well, I'll visit thee again. Tim. If I hope well, I'll never see thee more. Alcib. I never did thee harm. Tim. Yes, thou spok'st well of me. Alcib. Call'st thou that harm? Tim. Men daily find it. Get thee away, and take Thy beagles with thee. Alcib. We but offend him.-Strike! [Drum beats. Timandra. Exeunt Alcibiades, Phrynia, and Tim. That nature, being sick of man's unkindness, Should yet be hungry!-Common mother, thou, [Digging. Never presented!—O, a root,—dear thanks!— 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 infected; (80) From change of fortune.(81) Why this spade? this place? 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 Thou gav'st thine ears like tapsters that bid (82) welcome Apem. Thou hast cast away thyself, being like thyself; And skip when thou point'st out? will the cold brook, To cure thy o'er-night's surfeit? Call the creatures,- Of wreakful heaven; whose bare unhousèd trunks, Answer mere nature,-bid them flatter thee; O, thou shalt find Tim. A fool of thee: depart. Apem. I love thee better now than e'er I did. Apem. Tim. Why? Thou flatter'st misery. Apem. I flatter not; but say thou art a caitiff. Tim. Why dost thou seek me out? Арет. To vex thee. Tim. Always a villain's office or a fool's. Dost please thyself in't? Арет. Tim. Ay. What! a knave too? Apem. If thou didst put this sour-cold habit on To castigate thy pride, 'twere well: but thou |