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Auf. No more.

Ha!

Cor. Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart

Too great for what contains it. Boy! O slave! Pardon me, lords, 'tis the first time that ever 1 was forced to scold. Your judgments, my grave lords,

Must give this cur the lie and his own notion

Who wears my stripes impress'd upon him; that

Must bear my beating to his grave-shall join To thrust the lie unto him. 110

First Lord. Peace, both, and hear me speak.

Cor. Cut me to pieces, Volsces; men and lads,

Stain all your edges on me. Boy! false hound!

If you have writ your annals true, 'tis there, That, like an eagle in a dove-cote, I Flutter'd your Volscians in Corioli:

Alone I did it. Boy!

Auf.

Why, noble lords,

Will you be put in mind of his blind fortune, Which was your shame, by this unholy brag

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O that I had him,

130

With six Aufidiuses, or more, his tribe,
To use my lawful sword !
Auf.
Insolent villain !
All Consp. Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him!
[The Conspirators draw, and kill Corio-
lanus: Aujidius stands on his body.
Lords.
Hold, hold, hold, hold !
Auf. My noble masters, hear me speak.
First Lord.
O Tullus,-
Sec. Lord. Thou hast done a deed whereat

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My rage is gone; And I am struck with sorrow. Take him up. Help, three o' the chiefest soldiers; I'll be one. Beat thou the drum, that it speak mournfully: Trail your steel pikes. Though in this city he Hath widow'd and unchilded many a one, Which to this hour bewail the injury, Yet he shall have a noble memory. Assist. [Exeunt, bearing the body of Coriolanus. A dead march sounded.

TIMON OF ATHENS.

(WRITTEN ABOUT 1607-1608.)

INTRODUCTION.

This play is, beyond reasonable doubt, only in part the work of Shakespeare. Whether Shakespeare worked upon materials furnished by an older play, or whether he left his play a fragment to be completed by another hand, is uncertain: the former supposition is perhaps the correct one, and the older writer may possibly have been George Wilkins. There is a substantial agreement among the best critics as to what portions of the play are Shakespeare's and what are not. The following may be distinguished, with some confidence, as the non-Shakespearian parts: Act I., Sc. L., L. 189 240, 258-273 (or? from entrance of Apemantus to end of scene), II. (certainly); Act II., Se. II., L. 45-124; all Act III., except Sc. vI., L.98-115; Act IV., Sc. п., L. 30-50, (?) III., L. 292-362, 399413, 454-543; Act V. (?) Sc. 1., L. 1.-59, 11., III. There is no external evidence which helps to determine the date at which Shakespeare wrote his part of the play, but it was probably later than Macbeth and earlier than Pericles. The year 1607 is a date which cannot be very far astray. The sources of the play were Paynter's Palace of Pleasure, a passage in Plutarch's Life of Mark Antony, and in particular, a dialogue of Lucian. But if Shakespeare worked upon an older play, it may have been through it that he obtained the materials which appear to come through Lucian. Although only a fragment, Shakespeare's part of Timon is written with the highest dramatic energy. Nothing is more intense than the conception and rendering of Timon's feelings when he turns in hatred from the evil world. The rich Lord Timon has lived in a rose-colored mist of pleasant delusions. The conferring of favors has been with him a mode of kindly self-indulgence, and he has assumed that every one is as liberal-hearted and of as easy generosity as himself. Out of his pleasant dream he wakes to find the baseness, the selfishness, the ingratitude of the world; and he passes violently over from his former lax philanthropy to a fierce hatred of mankind. The practical Alcibiades sets at once about righting the wrongs which he has suffered; but Timon can only rage and then die. His rage implies the elements of a possible nobleness in him; he cannot acclimatize himself, as Alcibiades can, to the harsh and polluted air of the world; yet the rage also proceeds from a weakness of nature. The dog-like Apemantus accepts, well-contented, the evil which Alcibiades would punish, and from which Timon flies: he barks and snarls, but does not really suffer. The play is a painful one, unrelieved by the presence of beauty or human worth.

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TIMANDRA, ( mistresses to Alcibiades.

Cupid and Amazons in the mask.

Other Lords, Senators, Officers, Soldiers, Banditti, and Attendants.

SCENE: Athens, and the neighboring woods.

ACT I.

SCENE I. Athens. A hall in Timon's house.

Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and others, at several doors.

Poet. Good day, sir.
Pain.
I am glad you're well.
Poet. I have not seen you long: how goes
the world?

Pain. It wears, sir, as it grows.
Poet.

Ay, that's well known: But what particular rarity? what strange, Which manifold record not matches? See, Magic of bounty! all these spirits thy power Hath conjured to attend. I know the merchant.

Pain. I know them both; th' other's a jeweller.

Mer. O, 'tis a worthy lord.
Jew.

Nay, that's most fix'd. Mer. A most incomparable man, breathed, as it were, 10

To an untirable and continuate goodness :
He passes.

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Jew. I have a jewel here-
Mer. O, pray, let's see't: for the Lord

Upon his good and gracious nature hanging Subdues and properties to his love and tend

Timon, sir?

Jew. If he will touch the estimate: but,

for that

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press'd In our condition.

Nay, sir, but hear me on.

Poet.

All those which were his fellows but of late, Some better than his value, on the moment Follow his strides, his lobbies fill with tend

ance,

80

Rain sacrificial whisperings in his ear,
Make sacred even his stirrup, and through

him

I will say of it,

Drink the free air.

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More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well

To show Lord Timon that mean eyes have seen The foot above the head.

Trumpets sound. Enter LORD TIMON, addressing himself courteously to every suitor; a Messenger from VENTIDIUS talking with him; LUCILIUS and other servants following. Tim. Imprison'd is he, say you?

Mess. Ay, my good lord: five talents is his debt,

His means most short, his creditors most strait:

Your honorable letter he desires

To those have shut him up; which failing,
Periods his comfort.

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And being enfranchised, bid him come to me. 'Tis not enough to help the feeble up, But to support him after. Fare you well,

Mess. All happiness to your honor! [Exit.
Enter an old Athenian.

Old Ath. Lord Timon, hear me speak.
Tim.
Freely, good father. 110
Old Ath. Thou hasta servant named Lu-
cilius.

Tim. I have so what of him?

Old Ath. Most noble Timon, call the man before thee.

Tim. Attends he here, or no? Lucilius!
Luc. Here, at your lordship's service.

Old Ath. This fellow here, Lord Timon,

this thy creature,

By night frequents my house. I am a man

That from my first have been inclined to thrift;

And my estate deserves an heir more raised
Than one which holds a trencher.
Tim.
Well; what further? 120

Old Ath. One only daughter have I, no kin else,

On whom I may confer what I have got :

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Old Ath. She is young and apt:
Our own precedent passions do instruct us
What levity's in youth.

Tim. [To Lucilius] Love you the maid? Luc. Ay, my good lord, and she accepts of it.

Old Ath. If in her marriage my consent be missing,

I call the gods to witness, I will choose
Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world,
And dispossess her all.
Tim.
How shall she be endow'd,
If she be mated with an equal husband? 140
Old Ath. Three talents on the present; in

future, all.

Tim. This gentleman of mine hath served me long:

To build his fortune I will strain a little,
For 'tis a bond in men. Give him thy daugh-

ter:

What you bestow, in him I'll counterpoise,
And make him weigh with her.
Old Ath.
Most noble lord,
Pawn me to this your honor, she is his.
Tim. My hand to thee; mine honor on
my promise.

Luc. Humbly I thank your lordship:

never may

The state or fortune fall into my keeping, 150 Which is not owed to you!

[Exeunt Lucilius and Old Athenian. Poet. Vouchsafe my labor, and long live your lordship !

Tim. I thank you; you shall hear from me anon:

Go not away. What have you there, my
friend?
Pain. A piece of painting, which I do be-
seech

Your lordship to accept.
Tim.

Painting is welcome.

The painting is almost the natural man;
For since dishonor traffics with man's nature,
He is but outside: these pencill'd figures are
Even such as they give out. I like your work;
And you shall find I like it: wait attend-

ance

Till you hear further from me.
Pain.

The gods preserve ye!
Tim. Well fare you, gentleman: give me
your hand;
We must needs dine together. Sir, your jewel
Hath suffer'd under praise.
Jero.
What, my lord! dispraise?

Tim. A mere satiety of commendations.

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