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Alcib. When I have laid proud Athens on a
heap, Tim. Warr'st thou ’gainst Athens?
Ay, Timon, and have cause. Tim. The gods confound them all i' thy con
Thee after, when thou hast conquer'd!
Why me, Timon?
paps, That through the window-bars bore at men's eyes, Are not within the leaf of pity writ, Set them down horrible traitors: Spare not the
babe, Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their
mercy; Think it a bastard, whom the oracle Hath doubtfully pronounc'd thy throat shall cut, And mince it sans remorse: Swear against objects; Put armour on thine ears, and on thine
eyes; Whose proof, nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes, Nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding, Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay thy sol
diers: Make large confusion; and, thy fury spent, 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
Phr. and Tym. Give us some gold, good Timon:
Hast thou more? Tim. Enough to make a whore forswear her
trade, And to make whores, a bawd. Hold up, you sluts, Your aprons mountant: You are not oathable,Although, I know, you'll swear, terribly swear, Into strong shudders, and to heavenly agues, The immortal gods that hear you,- spare your
oaths, I'll trust to your conditions: Be whores still; And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you, Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up; Let your close fire predominate his smoke, 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: whore
still; Paint till a horse may mire upon your face:
of wrinkles! Phr. and Tym. 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 mar men's spurring. Crack the lawyer's voice, That he may never more false title plead, Nor sound his quillets shrilly; hoar the flamen, That scolds 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 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 damu you, And ditches grave you all! Phr. and Tym. 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.
Tim. If I hope well, I'll never see thee more.
Call'st thou that harm? Tim. Men daily find it such. Get thee away,
And take thy beagles with thee.
We but offend him. Strike.
[Drum beats. Ereunt Alcibiades, Phrynia,
and Tymandra. Tim. That nature, being sick of man's unkind
ness, Should yet be hungry!- Common mother, thou,
[Digging. Whose womb unmeasurable, and infinite breast, Teems, and feeds all; whose self-same mettle, Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is puff'd, Engenders the black toad, and adder blue, The gilded newt, and eyeless venom'd worm, With all the abhorred births below crisp heaven Whereon Hyperion's quickening fire doth shine; Yield him, who all thy human sons doth hate, From forth thy plenteous bosom, one poor root! Ensear thy fertile and conceptious womb, Let it no more bring out ingrateful man! Go great with tigers, dragons, wolves, and bears; Teem with new monsters, whom thy upward face Hath to the marbled mansion all above Never presented !—0, a root, -Dear thanks! Dry up thy marrows, vines, and plough-torn leas; Whereof ingrateful man, with liquorish draughts, And morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind, That from it all consideration slips !
Enter Apemantus. More man? Plague! plague!
Apen. 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 affected; A poor unmanly melancholy, sprung From change of fortune. Why this spade? this
place? This slave-like habit? and these looks of care? Thy flatterers yet wear silk, drink wine, lie soft; Hug their diseas'd perfumes, and have forgot 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 By that which has undone thee: hinge thy knee, And let his very breath, whom thou'lt observe, Blow off thy cap; praise his most vicious strain, And call it excellent: Thou wast told thus; Thou gav'st thine ears, like tapsters, that bid wel
Tim. Were I like thee, I'd throw away myself.
brook, Candied with ice, caudle thy morning taste,