So comfortable? It almost turns

My dangerous nature wild. Let me behold
Thy face. - Surely, this man was born of woman.—
Forgive my general and exceptless rashness
Perpetual-sober gods! I do proclaim
One honest man,
mistake me not, but cae;
No more, I pray,
and he is a steward.
How fain would I have hated all mankind,
And thou redeem'st thyself: But all, save thee,
I fell with curses.

SCENE I. The same. Before Timon's Cave. Enter Poet and Painter; TIMON behind, unseen. 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.

Methinks, thou art more honest now, than wise;
For, by oppressing and betraying me,
Thou might'st have sooner got another service.
For many so arrive at second masters,
Upon their first lord's neck. But tell me true.
(For I must ever doubt, though ne'er so sure,)
Is not thy kindness subtle, covetous,

If not a usuring kindness; and as rich men deal

gifts,

Expecting in return twenty for one?

Flav. No, my most worthy master, in whose breast Doubt and suspect, alas, are plac'd too late ; You should have fear'd false times, when you did feast:

Suspect still comes where an estate is least.

That which I show, heaven knows, is merely love,
Duty and zeal to your unmatched mind,

Care of your food and living: and, believe it,
My most honour'd lord,

For any benefit that points to me,

Either in hope, or present, I'd exchange

For this one wish, That you had power and wealth To requite me, by making rich yourself.

-

Tim. Look thee, 'tis so!-Thou singly honest man, Here, take: the gods out of my misery Have sent thee treasure. Go, live rich, and happy: But thus condition'd; Thou shalt build from men ; Hate all, curse all: show charity to none; But let the famish'd flesh slide from the bone, Ere thou relieve the beggar: give to dogs What thou deny'st to men; let prisons swallow them,

Debts wither them: Be men like blasted woods,
And may diseases lick up their false bloods!
And so, farewell, and thrive.

O, let me stay,

Flav.
And comfort you, my master.

Tim.

If thou hat'st Curses, stay not; fly, whilst thou'rt bless'd and free: Ne'er see thou man, and let me ne'er see thee. [Exeunt severally.

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 travel for, 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.

What a god's

Tim. I'll meet you at the turn.
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! and thy saints for aye
Be crown'd with plagues, that thee alone obey!
'Fit I do meet them.

[Advancing.

Poct. 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'm 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 re-
quite 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

Best in all Athens: thou art, indeed, the best; Thou counterfeit'st most lively.

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 coun

terfeit

Pain. So, so, my lord. Tim. Even so, sir, as I say:-And, for thy fiction, [To the Poet. 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 eeds say, you have a little ult: 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.
Both. Doubt it not, worthy lord.
Tim. There's ne'er a one of you but trusts a knave,
That mightily deceives you.

Will you, indeed?

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: -
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, there's payment: Hence!

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; there does not live a man.
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 griefs: 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, in excess Hath broke their hearts. March, noble lord, Into our city with thy banners spread : By decimation, and a tithed death,

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, thou'lt enter friendly.

To
say
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.

-not a man

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 With my more noble meaning, Shall pass his quarter, or offend the stream Of regular justice in your city's bounds, But shall be rendered, to your publick laws, At heaviest answer. Both. 'Tis most nobly spoken. Alcib. Descend, and keep your words.

The Senators descend, and open the gates.
Enter a Soldier.

Sol. 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 caitiff's 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.

These will express in thee thy latter spirits: Though thou abhorr❜dst in us our human grief's, 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. Deaa
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,