But by contempt of nature.

Raife me this beggar, and denude that lord;
The fenator fhall bear contempt hereditary,
The beggar native honour.

It is the paftor lards the brother's fides,
The want that makes him leave.

Who dares, who dares,

In purity of manhood stand upright,
And fay, this man's a flatterer? If one be,
So are they all; for every greeze of fortune
Is fimooth'd by that below. The learned pate
Ducks to the golden fool. All is oblique;
There's nothing level in our curfed natures,
But direct villainy. Therefore be abhorr'd,
All feats, focieties, and throngs of men!
His femblable, yea, himself, Timon difdains.
Deflruction fang mankind!-Earth, yield me roots!
[Digging the earth.
Who seeks for better of thee, fauce his palate
With thy most operant poifon!

What's 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; fair, foul; wrong, right; Bafe, noble; old, young; coward, valiant.

You Gods! Why, this-What! this, you Gods?-Why,

this

Will lug your priests and servants from your fides;
Pluck fout men's pillews from below their heads.
This yellow flave

Will knit and break religions; bless th' accurs'd;
Make the hoar leprofy ador'd; place thieves,.
And give them tifle, knee, and approbation,
With fenators on the bench: this is it,
That makes the wappen'd widow wed again;
She whom the spital-houfe, and ulcerous fores,
Would caft the gorge at, this embalms and spices
To th' April day again. Come, damned earth!
Thou common whore of mankind, that putt'st odds
Among the rout of nations, I will make thee
Do thy right nature.-[ March afar off.] Ha! a drum?
Thou'r

-Thou'rt quick,

But yet I'll bury thee. Thou'lt go, ftrong thief,
When gouty keepers of thee cannot stand.
-Nay, ftay thou out for earnest.

[Keeping fome gold.

Enter Alcibiades, with drum and fife in warlike manner, and

Phrynia and Timandra.

Alt. What art thou there? Speak.

Tim. A beaft, as thou art.

Cankers gnaw thy heart,

For fhewing me again the eyes of man!

Alc. What is thy name? Is man fo hateful to thee,

That art thyself a man?

Tim. I am Mijanthropos, and hate mankind.

For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog,

That I might love thee fomething.

Alc. I know thee well;

But in thy fortunes am unlearn'd, and ftrange.

Tim. I know thee too, and more than that I know thee,

I not defire to know. Follow thy drum;

With man's blood paint the ground.

Religious canons, civil laws, are cruel;

Gules! gules!

Then what fhould war be? This fell whore of thine

Hath in her more deftruction than thy fword,
For all her cherubin look.

Phry. Thy lips rot off!

Tim. I will not kifs 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 funs 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 promife, the gods plague thee,
For thou art a man; if thou doft perform,
Confound thee, for thou art a man!

Alc. I have heard in fome fort of thy miferics.
Tim. Thou faw'ft them when I had profperity.
Alt. I fee them now; then was a blessed time.
O 2

Tim

Tim. As thine is now, held with a brace of harlots. Timan. Is this the Athenian minion, whom the world Voic'd fo regardfully?

Tim. Art thou Timandra?

Timan. Yes.

Tim. Be a whore ftill. They love thee not that use thee, Give them diseases, leaving with thee their luft;

Make ufe of thy falt hours, feafon the flaves

For tubs and baths, bring down the rose-cheek'd youth To th' tub-faft, and the diet.

Timan. Hang thee, monster!

Alc. Pardon him, fweet Timandra, for his wits
Are drown'd, and loft 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 curfed Athens, mindless of thy worth,
Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbour states,
But for thy fword 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 doft 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't thou 'gainst Athens?

Alc. Ay, Timon, and have caufe.

Tim. The gods confound them all then in thy conqueft, And after, thee, when thou haft conquered!

Alc. Why me, Timon?

Tim. That by killing of villains thou waft born to con

quer my country.

Put up thy gold. Go on- Here's gold-Go on;

Be as a planetary plague, when Jove

Will o'er fome high-vic'd city hang his poifon
In the fick air. Let not thy fword skip one.
Pity not honour'd Age for his white beard;

He is an ufurer. Strike me the counterfeit matron;
It is her habit only that is honeft;

Herfelf's

Herself's a bawd. Let not the virgin's cheek
Make foft thy trenchant fword; for thofe milk-paps,
That through the window-barn bore at men's
Are not within the leaf of pity writ ;

eyes,

Set them down horrible traitors. Spare not the babe,
Whofe dimpled fmiles from fools exhaust their mercy;
Think it a baftard, whom the oracle

Hath doubtfully pronounc'd thy throat fhall cut,
And mince it fans remorfe. Swear against objects,
Put armour on thine ears, and on thine eyes;
Whofe proof, nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes,
Nor fight of prieft in holy veftments bleeding,
Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay thy foldiers.
Make large confufion; and, thy fury spent,
Confounded be thyfelf! Speak not, be gone.
Alc. Haft thou gold yet?

I'll take the gold thou giv'ft me, not thy counsel.

Tim. Doft thou, or doft thou not, Heaven's curfe upon thee!
Both. Give us fome gold, good Timon. Haft thou more?
Tim. Enough to make a whore forfwear her trade,
And to make whores a bawd. Hold up, you fluts,
Your aprons mountant; you're not othable,
Although I know you'll fwear, terribly swear,
Into trong fhudders, and to heavenly agues,

The immortal Gods that hear you. Spare your oaths:
I'll truft to your conditions. Be whores ftill.
And he whofe pious breath feeks to convert you,
Be ftrong in whore, allure him, burn him up;
Let your clofe fire predominate his fmoak,
And be no turncoats. Yet may your pains
Six months be quite contrary: and thatch
Your poor thin roofs with burdens of the dead,
(Some that were hang'd, no matter)

Wear them, betray with them, and whore on ftill;
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 Confumptions fow

In hollow bones of men; ftrike the fharp fhins,

0 3

And

་

And marr men's fpurring. Crack the lawyer's voice,
That he may never more falfe title plead,
Nor found his quillets fhrilly: hoar the flamen,
That fcolds 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 forefee,

Smells from the general weal: make curl-pate ruffians bald;
And let the unfcarr'd braggarts of the war

Derive fome pain from you. Plague all;

That your activity may defeat and quell

The fource 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 Timoni
Tim. More whore, more mischief first. I've given you
earneft.

Alc. Strike up the drums towards Athens. Farewel, Timon; If I thrive well, I'll vifit thee again.

Tim. If I hope well, I'll never fee thee more.

Alc. I never did thee harm.

Tim. Yes, thou spok'ft well of me,

Alc. Call'ft thou that harm?

Tim. Men daily find it. Get thee hence. Away,

And take thy beagles with thee.

Alc. We but offend him. Strike.

[Dram beats, Exeunt Alcib. Phrynia, and Timandra. Tim. [Digging.] That nature being fick of man's unkindnefs,

Should yet

be hungry!-Common mother, thou
Whose womb unmeafurable and infinite breaft
Teems, and feeds all; whofe felf-fame mettle,
Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is puft,
Engenders the black toad and adder blue,
The gilded newt, and eyelefs venom'd worm,
With all the abhorred births below crifp heaven,
Whereon Hyperion's quickening fire doth fhine;
Yield him, who all thy human fons doth hate,
From forth thy plenteous bofom, one poor root!
Enfear thy fertile and conceptious womb;

Let