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Enter ALCIBIADES, with drum and fife, in warlike

manner ; PHRYNIA and TIMANDRA. Alcib.

What art thou there? Speak. Tim. A beast, as thou art.

The canker gnaw thy heart, For 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;
Then what should war be? This fell whore of thine
Hath in her more destruction than thy sword,
For all her cherubin look.

Thy lips rot off!
Tim. I will not kiss thee; then the rot returns
To thine own lips again.

Alcib. 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 suns to borrow of. Alcib.

Noble Timon, What friendship may I do thee?

Phr.

Tim.

None, but to
Maintain my opinion.
Alcib.

What is it, Timon?
Tim. Promise me friendship, but perform none : If
Thou wilt not promise, the gods plague thee, for
Thou art a man! if thou dost perform, confound

thee, For thou'rt a man!

Alcib. I have heard in some sort of thy miseries. Tim. Thou saw'st them, when I had prosperity. Alcib. I see them now; then was a blessed time. Tim. As thine is now, held with a brace of harlots. Timan. Is this the Athenian minion, whom the

world Voic'd so regardfully?

Art thou Timandra ? Timan.

Yes, Tim. Be a whore still! they love thee not, that

use thee; Give them diseases, leaving with thee their lust. Make use of thy salt hours : season the slaves For tubs, and baths; bring down rose-cheeked youth To the tub-fast, and the diet. 4 Timan.

Hang thee, monster! Alcib. Pardon him, sweet Timandra; for his wits Are drown's and lost in his calamities. I have but little gold of late, brave Timon, The want whereof doth daily make revolt In my penurious band : I have heard, and griev'd, How cursed Athens, mindless of thy worth,

Tim.

4 Alluding to the cure for the lues venerea then in practice,

Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbour states,
But for thy sword and fortune, trod upon them,-

T'im. I prythee, beat thy drum, and get thee gone.
Alcib. I am thy friend, and pity thee, dear Timon.
Tim. How dost thou pity him, whom thou dost

trouble?
I had rather be alone.
Alcib.

Why, fare thee well:
Here's some gold for thee.
Tim.

Keep't, I cannot eat it.
Alcib. When I have laid proud Athens on a

heap,
Tim. Warr'st thou 'gainst Athens?
Alcib.

Ay, Timon, and have cause.
Tim. The gods confound them all i'thy conquest;

and Thee after, when thou hast conquer'd! Alcib.

Why me, Timon? Tim. That, By killing villains, thou wast born to conquer My country. Put up thy gold; Go on,-here's gold, go on; Be as a planetary plague, when Jove Will o'er some high-vic'd city hang his poison In the sick air : Let not thy sword skip one: Pity not honour'd age for his white beard, He's an usurer: Strike me the counterfeit matron; It is her habit only that is honest, Herselfs a bawd: Let not the virgin's cheek Make soft thy trenchants sword; for those milk. paps,

5 Cutting

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, 6 whom the oracle
Hath doubtfully pronounc'd thy throat shall cut,
And mince it sans remorse : 7 Swear against ob

jects;8
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 soldiers : 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

upon thee!

Phr. 8. Timan. 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 :9 Be whores still ; And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you, Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up;

6 An allusion to the tale of Oedipus. 7 Without pity. 31. e. Against objects of charity and compassion. 9 Vocations.

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;

may

Paint till a horse mire

upon your face : A pox

of wrinkles ! Phr. 8. Timan. Well, more gold; -What then ? Believ'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 9 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 damn you,
And ditches grave' you

all ! Phr. & Timan. More counsel with more money,

bounteous Timon. Tin. More. whore, more mischief first; I have

given you earnest. VOL. VIII.

G

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