2 Lord. Lord Timon's mad.

3 Lord.

I feel't upon my bones.

4 Lord. One day he gives us diamonds, next day

LET me look back upon thee, O thou wall,
That girdlest in those wolves! Dive in the earth,
And fence not Athens! Matrons, turn incontinent;
Obedience fail in children! slaves, and fools,
Pluck the grave wrinkled senate from the bench,
And minister in their steads! to general filths
Convert o'the instant, green virginity!

Do't in your parents' eyes! bankrupts, hold fast;
Rather than render back, out with your knives,
And cut your trusters' throats! Bound servants, steal!
Large-handed robbers your grave masters are,
And pill by law! maid, to thy master's bed;
Thy mistress is o'the brothel! son of sixteen,
Pluck the lin❜d crutch from the old limping sire,
With it beat out his brains! piety, and fear,
Religion to the gods, peace, justice, truth,
Domestic awe, night-rest, and neighbourhood,
Instruction, manners, mysteries, and trades,
Degrees, observances, customs, and laws,
Decline to your confounding contraries,
And yet confusion live!- Plagues, incident to men,
Your potent and infectious fevers heap

On Athens, ripe for stroke! Thou cold sciatica,
Cripple our senators, that their limbs may halt
As lamely as their manners! lust and liberty

Creep in the minds and marrows of our youth;
That 'gainst the stream of virtue they may strive,
And drown themselves in riot! itches, blains,
Sow all the Athenian bosoms; and their crop
Be general leprosy! breath infect breath;
That their society, as their friendship, may
Be merely poison! Nothing I'll bear from thee,
But nakedness, thou detestable town!

Take thou that too, with multiplying banns!
Timon will to the woods; where he shall find
The unkindest beast more kinder than mankind.
The gods confound (hear me, you good gods all.)
'The Athenians both within and out that wall!
And grant, as Timon grows, his hate may grow
To the whole race of mankind, high, and low!
Amen.

[Exit.

SCENE 11-Athens. A Room in Timon's Houre. Enter Flavius with two or three Servants.

1 Serv. Hear you, master steward, where's our mas"
ter?

Are we undone? cast o? nothing remaining?
Flav. Alack, my fellows, what should I say to you?
Let me be recorded by the righteous gods,

I am as poor as you.

1 Serv.

Such a house broke!

So noble a master fallen! all gone! and not
One friend, to take his fortune by the arm,
And go along with him!

2 Serv.

As we do turn our backs

From our companion, thrown into his grave;

So his familiars to his buried fortunes

Slink all away; leave their false vows with him,
Like empty purses pick'd: and his poor self,

A dedicated beggar to the air,

With his disease of all-shunn'd poverty,

Walks, like contempt, alone.-More of our fellows..

Enter other Servants.

Flav. All broken implements of a ruin'd house.
3 Serv. Yet do our hearts wear Timon's livery,
That see I by our faces; we are fellows still,
Serving alike in sorrow: Leak'd is our bark;
And we, poor mates, stand on the dying deck,
Hearing the surges threat: we must all part
Into this sea of air.

Flav.

Good fellows all,

The latest of my wealth I'll share amongst you.
Wherever we shall meet, for Timon's sake,
Let's yet be fellows; let's shake our heads, and say,
As 'twere a knell unto our master's fortunes,

We have seen better days. Let each take some;

[Giving them money. Nay, put out all your hands. Not one word more: Thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poor.

[Exe. Serv. -0, the fierce wretchedness that glory brings us ! Who would not wish to be from wealth exempt, Since riches point to misery and contempt? Who'd be so mock'd with glory? or to live But in a dream of friendship?

To have his pomp, and all what state compounds,
But only painted, like his varnish'd friends?
Poor honest lord, brought low by his own heart;
Undone by goodness! Strange, unusual blood,
When man's worst sin is, he does too much good!
Who then dares to be half so kind again?
For bounty that makes gods, does still mar men.
My dearest lord,-bless'd, to be most accurs'd,
Rich, only to be wretched;-thy great fortunes
Are made thy chief afflictions. Alas, kind lord!
He's flung in rage from this ungrateful seat
Of monstrous friends: nor has he with him to
Supply his life, or that which can command it.
I'll follow, and inquire him out:

Vol. 5.

W

I'll serve his mind with my best will;

Whilst I have gold, I'll be his steward still.

[Exit.

SCENE III-The Woods. Enter Timon.

Tim. O blessed breeding sun, draw from the earth Rotten humidity; below thy sister's orb

Infect the air! Twinn'd brothers of one womb,-
Whose procreation, residence, and birth,

Scarce is dividant,-touch them with several fortunes;
The greater scorns the lesser: Not nature,

To whom all sores lay siege, can bear great fortune,
But by contempt of nature.

Raise me this beggar, and denude that lord;
The senator shall bear contempt hereditary,
The beggar native honour.

It is the pasture lards the brother's sides,

The want that makes him lean. Who dares, who dares,

In purity of manhood stand upright,

And say This man's a flatterer? if one be,
So are they all; for every grize of fortune
Is smooth'd by that below: the learned pate
Ducks to the golden fool: All is oblique;
There's nothing level in our cursed natures,
But direct villany. Therefore, be abhorr'd
All feasts, societies, and throngs of men!
His semblable, yea, himself, Timon disdains:
Destruction fang mankind!-Earth, yield me roots!
[Digging.

Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate
With thy most operant poison! What is 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; foul, fair;
Wrong, right; base, noble; old, young; coward, val
iant.

Ha, you gods! why this? What this, you gods? Why

this

Will lug your priests and servants from your sides;
Pluck stout men's pillows from below their heads..
This yellow slave

Will knit and break religions; bless the accurs'd;
Make the hoar leprosy ador'd; place thieves,
And give them title, knee, and approbation,
With senators on the bench: this is it,
That makes the wappen'd widow wed again;
She, whom the spital-house, and ulcerous sores
Would cast the gorge at, this embalmis and spices
To the 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'rt quick,

But yet I'll bury thee. Thou'lt go, strong thief,
When gouty keepers of thee cannot stand:-

Nay, stay thou out for earnest. [Keeping some gold. Enter Alcibiades, with drum and fife, in warlike man ner; Phrynia and Timandra.

Alcib. What art thou there?

Speak.

Tim. A beast, as thou art. The canker gnaw thy heart,

Fow showing me again the eyes of man!

Alcib. What is thy name? Is man so hateful to thee, That art thyself 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.

Alcib.

I know thee well

But in thy fortunes am unlearn'd and strange.

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

I not desire to know. Follow thy drum;

With man's blood paint the ground, gules, gules:
Religious canons, civil laws are cruel;