In limited Profeffions. Rafcal Thieves,

Here's Gold. Go, fuck the fubtle Blood o'th Grape,
'Till the high Feaver feeth your Blood to Froth,
And fo fcape hanging. Truft not the Physician,
His Antidotes are Poison, and he flays

More than you Rob: Take wealth, and live together,
Do Villany do, fince you protest to do't,

Like Workmen, I'll Example you with Thievery:
The Sun's a Thief, and with his great Attraction
Robs the vast Sea. The Moon's an Arrant Thief,
And her pale fire fhe fnatches from the Sun.
The Sea's a Thief, whofe liquid Surge refolves
The Moon into Salt Tears. The Earth's a Thief,
That feeds and breeds by a compofture ftoln
From gen'ral Excrement: Each things a Thief.
The Laws, your curb and whip, in their rough Power
Has uncheck'd theft. Love not your selves, away,
Rob one another, there's more Gold; Cut Throats;
All that you meet are Thieves: To Athens go,
Break open Shops, nothing can you Steal
But Thieves do lofe it: Steal not lefs, for this I give you,
And Gold confound you how foe'er: Amen. [Exit.
3 Band. H'as almoft charm'd me from my Profeffion, by
perfwading me to it.

I Band. 'Tis in the malice of Mankind, that he thus advifes us, not to have us thrive in our mystery.

2 Band. I'll believe him as an Enemy,

And give over my Trade.

1 Band. Let us firft fee Peace in Athens, there is no time fo miferable but a Man may be true.

[Exeunt Thieves.

ACT

ACT V. SCENE I.

SCENE The Woods and Timon's Cave.

Flav.

H

Enter Flavius to Timon.

O you Gods!

Is yond defpis'd and ruinous Man my Lord?
Full of decay and failing? Oh Monument

And wonder of good Deeds, evilly beftow'd!-
What an alteration of honour has defp'rate want made?
What vilder thing upon the Earth, than Friends,
Who can bring nobleft Minds to bafeft Ends?
How rarely does it meet with this times guife,
When Man was wifht to love his Enemies:
Grant I may ever love, and rather woo

Those that would mischief me, than thofe that do.
H'as caught me in his Eye, I will prefent my honeft Grief
Unto him; and, as my Lord, ftill ferve him with my Life.
My dearest Master.

Tim. Away: What art thou?

Flav. Have you forgot me, Sir?

Tim. Why doft ask that? I have forgot all Men.

Then if thou grunt'ft th'art a Man,

I have forgot thee.

Flav. An honeft poor Servant of yours.

Tim. Then I know thee not:

I ne'er had honeft Man about me, I, all

I kept were Knaves, to ferve in meat to Villains.
Flav. The Gods are witness,

Never did poor Steward wear a truer Grief

For his undone Lord, than mine Eyes for

you.

Tim. What, doft thou weep? Come nearer, then I love thee

Because thou art a Woman, and difclaim'ft

Flinty Mankind; whofe Eyes do never give,

But through Luft and Laughter. Pity's Sleeping;

Strange times that weep with laughing, not with weeping.

Flav. I beg of you to know me, good my Lord, T'accept my Grief, and whilft this poor wealth lafts, To entertain me as your Steward ftill.

Tim Had I a Steward

So true, fo juft, and now fo comfortable?
It almoft turns my dangerous Nature wild.
Let me behold thy Face: Surely, this Man
Was born of Womar.

Forgive my general, and exceptlefs rafhness
You perpetual fober Gods. I do proclaim
One honeft Man; Miftake me not, but one:
No more I pray, and he's a Steward.

How fain would I have hated all Mankind,
And thou redeem'ft thy felf: But a fave thee,
I fell with Curfes.

Methinks thou art more.houeft now than wife :
For, by oppreffing and betraying me,

Thou might'ft have fooner got another Service.
For many fo arrive at fecond Masters,

Upon their firft Lord's Neck. But tell me true,
For I must ever doubt, though ne'er fo fure,
Is not thy kindnefs fubtle, covetous,

Is't not a ufuring Kindness, and as rich Men deal Gifts,
Expecting in return twenty for one?

Flav. No, my moft worthy Mafter, in whofe Breaft
Doubt and Sufpect, alas, are plac'd too late,

You should have fear'd falfe times, when you did feast;
Sufpe& ftill comes where an Eftate is leaft.

That which I fhew, Heav'n knows, is meerly 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 prefent, I'd exchange

For this one Wish, that you had power and wealth
To require me, by making rich your felf.

Tim. Look thee, 'tis fo; thon fingly honeft Man,
Here take; the Gods out of my mifery,

Have fent thee Treafure. Go, live rich and happy.
But thus condition'd; thou shalt build from Men:

Hate

Hate all, Curfe all, fhew Charity to none,
But let the famifht Flesh flide from the Bone,
E'er thou relieve the Beggar. Give to Dogs

What thou deny'ft to Men. Let Prifons fwallow 'em, Debts wither 'em to nothing, be Men like blafted Woods, And may Diseases lick up their falfe Bloods,

And fo farewel, and thrive.

Flav. O let me ftay and comfort

Tim. If thou hat'ft Curfes,

you my

Stay not; Fly, whilft thou art bleft and free;

Master.

Ne'er fee thou Man, and let me ne'er fee thee.

Enter Poet and Painter.

[Exeunt.

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's fo full of Gold?

Pain. Certain.

Alcibiades reports it: Phrinia and Timandra
Had Gold of him, he likewife enrich'd
Poor ftragling Soldiers, with great quantity.
'Tis faid, he gave unto his Steward.

A mighty Sum,

Poet. Then this breaking of his, Has been but a try for his Friends.

Pain. Nothing else:

You fhall fee him a Palm in Athens again,

And flourish with the highest.

Therefore, 'tis not amifs, we tender our Loves

To him, in this fuppos'd distress of his :

It will fhew honeftly in us,

And is very likely to load our purposes

With what they travel for,

If it be a juft and true Report, that goes

Of his having.

Poet. What have you now

To prefent unto him?

Pain. Nothing at this time

But my Vifitation: Only I will promife him
An excellent Piece.

Poet.

Poet. I muft ferve him fo too;

Tell him of an intent that's coming toward him.

Pain. Good as the beft,

Promifing is the very Air o'th' Time;

It opens the Eyes of Expectation, by se pogolt
Performance is ever the duller for his act,

And but in the plainer and fimpler kind of People,
The deed of Saying is quite out of use.

d

A

To promife, is moft Courtly and Fashionable; 2 Jade
Performance is a kind of Will or Teftament,
Which argues a great Sickness in his Judgment

That makes it.

Enter Timon from his Cave.

Tim. Excellent Workman,

Thou canst not paint a Man fo bad

As is thy felf.

Poet. I am thinking

ཏི

“, *,

What I fhall fay I have provided for him:
It must be a perfonating of himself ;

A Satyr against the softness of Prosperity,
With a Discovery of the infinite Flatteries"
That follow Youth and Opulency.

Tim. Muft thou needs

Stand for a Villain in thine own Work?

Wilt thou whip thine own Faults in other Men?
Did fo, 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 ferves before black corner'd Night;
Find what thou want'ft, by free and offer'd light.
Come.

Tim. I'll meet you at the turn:

What a God's Gold, that he is worshipt

In a bafer Temple, than where Swine feed?

'Tis thou that rigg'ft the Bark, and plow'ft the Fome,
Setleft admired reverence in a Slave,

To thee be worship, and thy Saints for aye:
Be crown'd with Plagues, that thee alone obey.
'Tis fit I meet them.

Peet.