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Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness,
Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude,
I have no relish of them; but abound
In the division of each several crime,

Be call'd our mother, but our grave: where nothing,
But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile; [air,
Where sighs, and groans, and shrieks that rend the
Are made, not mark'd; where violent sorrow seems

Acting it many ways. Nay, had I power, I should A modern ecstacy; the dead man's knell
Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell,
Uproar the universal peace, confound
All un ty on earth.

Macd.

O Scotland! Scotland!

Mal. If such a one be fit to govern, speak: I am as I have spoken.

Macd.

Fit to govern!

No, not to live.-O nation miserable,
With an untitled tyrant bloody-scepter'd,
When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again?
Since that the truest issue of thy throne
By his own interdiction stands accurs'd,
And does blaspheme his breed?- Thy royal father
Was a most sainted king: the queen, that bore thee,
Oft'ner upon her knees than on her feet,
Died every day she lived. Fare thee well!
These evils thou repeat'st upon thyself
Have banish'd me from Scotland.-O, my breast,
Thy hope ends here!
Mal.
Macduff, this noble passion,
Child of integrity, hath from my soul
Wip'd the black scruples, reconcil'd my thoughts
To thy good truth and honour. Devilish Macbeth
By many of these trains hath sought to win me
Into his power; and modest wisdom plucks me
From over-credulous haste: But God above
Deal between thee and me! for even now
I put myself to thy direction, and
Unspeak mine own detraction; here abjure
The taints and blames I laid upon myself,
For strangers to my nature. I am yet
Unknown to woman; never was forsworn;
Scarcely have coveted what was mine own;
At no time broke my faith; would not betray
The devil to his fellow; and delight

No less in truth, than life: my first falsespeaking
Was this upon myself: What I am truly,
Is thine, and my poor country's, to command:
Whither, indeed, before thy here-approach,
Old Siward, with ten thousand warlike men,
Already at a point, was setting forth:
Now we 'll together: And the chance, of goodness,
Be like our warranted quarrel! Why are you silent?
Macd. Such welcome and unwelcome things at
'T is hard to reconcile.
[once,

Enter a Doctor.

Mal. Well; more anon.-Comes the king forth, I pray you?

Doct. Ay, sir: there are a crew of wretched souls
That stay his cure: their malady convinces
The great assay of art; but, at his touch,
Such sanctity hath heaven given his hand,
They presently amend.
Mal.

I thank you, doctor.

[Exit Doctor.
Macd. What 's the disease he means?
Mal.
'T is called the evil;
A most miraculous work in this good king:
Which often, since my here-remain in England,
I have seen him do. How he solicits heaven,
Himself best knows: but strangely-visited people,
All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye,
The mere despair of surgery, he cures;
Hanging a golden stamp about their necks,
Put on with holy prayers: and 't is spoken,
To the succeeding royalty he leaves

The healing benediction. With this strange virtue,
He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy;
And sundry blessings hang about his throne,
That speak him full of grace.

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Is there scarce ask'd, for who; and good men's lives
Expire before the flowers in their caps,
Dying, or ere they sicken. Macd. O, relation,
Too nice, and yet too true!
What's the newest grief?

Mal.
Rosse. That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker;
Each minute teems a new one.
Macd.

How does my wife?
Macd. And all my children?
Well too.

Rosse. Why, well.
Rosse.
Macd. The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace?
Rosse. No; they were well at peace, when I did
leave them.

[goes it? Macd. Be not a niggard of your speech: How Rosse. When I came hither to transport the tidings,

Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumour
Of many worthy fellows that were out;
Which was to my belief witness'd the rather,
For that I saw the tyrant's power a-foot:
Now is the time of help; your eye in Scotland
Would create soldiers, make our women fight
To doff their dire distresses.

Mal.

Be 't their comfort, We are coming thither: gracious England hath Lent us good Siward, and ten thousand men; An older, and a better soldier, none That Christendom gives out.

Rosse.

'Would I could answer

This comfort with the like! But I have words
That would be howl'd out in the desert air,
Where hearing should not latch them.
Macd.

What concern they?

The general cause? or is it a fee-grief,
Due to some single breast?
Rosse.

No mind that 's honest though the main part Macd. If it be mine,

But in it shares some woe;
Pertains to you alone.
Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it. [ever,
Rosse. Let not your ears despise my tongue for
Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound,
That ever yet they heard.
Macd.
Humph! I guess at it.
Rosse. Your castle is surpris'd; your wife, and
babes,
Savagely slaughter'd: to relate the manner,
To add the death of you.
Were, on the quarry of these murder'd deer,

Mal.
Merciful heaven!--
What, man! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows,
Give sorrow words: the grief that does not speak
Whispers the o'erfraught heart, and bids it break.
Macd. My children too?

[found.

Rosse. Wife, children, servants, all that could be Macd. And I must be from thence! My wife kill'd too?

Rosse. I have said.

Mal. Be comforted: Let's make us med'cines of our great revenge,

To cure this deadly grief.

Macd. He has no children.-All my pretty ones!
What, all my pretty chickens, and their dam,
Did you say, all?-O, hell-kite!-All?
At one fell swoop?

Macd. I shall do so;

Mal. Dispute it like a man. But I must also feel it as a man:

[on,

I cannot but remember such things were,
And would not take their part? Sinful Macduff,
That were most precious to me.-Did heaven look
They were all struck for thee! naught that I am,
Not for their own demerits, but for mine,
Fell slaughter on their souls: Heaven rest them now!
Mal. Be this the whetstone of your sword: let grief
Convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it.
Macd. O, I could play the woman with mine eyes,
And braggart with my tongue!-But, gentle heavens,
Cut short all intermission; front to front,
Bring thou this fiend of Scotland, and myself;
Within my sword's length set him; if he 'scape,
Heaven forgive him too!
Mal.
This time goes manly.
Come, go we to the king; our power is ready;

Our lack is nothing but our leave: Macbeth
Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above
Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer you
The night is long that never finds the day. [Exe.

ACT V.

SCENE I.-Dunsinane. A Room in the Castle. Enter a Doctor of Physic, and a waiting Gentle

woman.

More needs she the divine than the physician.
[may; God, God, forgive us all! Look after her;
Remove from her the means of all annoyance,
And still keep eyes upon her :-So, good night:
My mind she has mated, and amaz'd my sight:
I think, but dare not speak.
Gent
Good night, good doctor. [Exe.
SCENE II.—The Country near Dunsinane.
Enter, with drum and colours, Menteth, Cath-
ness, Angus, Lenox, and Soldiers.
Ment. The English power is near, led on by Mal-
[colm,
His uncle Siward, and the good Macduff.
Would, to the bleeding and the grim alarm,
Revenges burn in them: for their dear causes
Excite the mortified man.

Doct. I have two nights watched with you, but can perceive no truth in your report. When was it she last walked?

Gent. Since his majesty went into the field, I have seen her rise from her bed, throw her nightgown upon her, unlock her closet, take forth paper, fold it, write upon 't, read it, afterwards seal it, and again return to bed; yet all this while in a most fast sleep.

Doct. A great perturbation in nature to receive at once the benefit of sleep, and do the effects of watching. In this slumbery agitation, besides her walking and other actual performances, what, at any time, have you heard her say?

Gent. That, sir, which I will not report after her. Doct. You may, to me; and 't is inost meet you

should.

Ang.

Near Birnam wood

Shall we well meet them; that way are they coming.

Cath. Who knows if Donalbain be with his brother?

Len. For certain, sir, he is not: I have a file
And many unrough youths, that even now
Of all the gentry: there is Siward's son,
Protest their first of manhood.

Ment.
What does the tyrant?
Some say he 's mad; others, that lesser hate him,
Cath. Great Dunsinane he strongly fortifies:

Gent. Neither to you, nor any one; having no wit-Do call it valiant fury: but, for certain,
ness to confirm iny speech.

Enter Lady Macbeth, with a taper.

Lo you, here she comes! This is her very guise;
and, upon my life, fast asleep. Observe her:
stand close.

Doct. How came she by that light?
Gent. Why, it stood by her: she has light by her Upon a dwarfish thief.
continually; 't is her command.

Doct. You see, her eyes are open.
Gent. Ay, but their sense is shut.

Doct. What is it she does now? Look how she rubs her hands.

Gent. It is an accustomed action with her, to seem thus washing her hands. I have known her continue in this a quarter of an hour.

Lady M. Yet here's a spot.

Doct. Hark, she speaks: I will set down what comes from her, to satisfy my remembrance the more strongly.

Lady M. Out, damned spot! out, I say!-One; Two: Why, then 't is time to do 't!-Hell is murky -Fie, my lord, fie! a soldier, and afeard! What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our power to account?-Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him! Doct. Do you mark that?

Lady M. The thane of life had a wife; Where is she now?-What, will these hands ne'er be clean? -No more o' that, my lord, no more o' that: you mar all with this starting.

Doct. Go to, go to; you have known what you should not.

Gent. She has spoke what she should not, I am sure of that: Heaven knows what she has known. Lady M. Here's the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh! oh! oh! [charged. Doct. What a sigh is there! The heart is sorely Gent. I would not have such a heart in my bosom, for the dignity of the whole body. Doct. Well, well, well,

Gent. 'Pray God, it be, sir.

Doct. This disease is beyond my practice: Yet I have known those which have walked in their sleep who have died holily in their beds.

Lady M. Wash your hands, put on your night. gown; look not so pale-I tell you yet again, Banquo's buried; he cannot come out on 's grave.

Doct. Even so?

He cannot buckle his distemper'd cause
Within the belt of rule. Ang. Now does he feel
His secret murthers sticking on his hands;
Now minutely revolts upbraid his faith-breach;
Those he coinmands move only in command,
Nothing in love: now does he feel his title
Hang loose about him, like a giant's robe
Ment.
Who then shall blame
His pester'd senses to recoil, and start,
When all that is within him does condemn
Itself, for being there?
Cath.
Well, march we on,
To give obedience where 't is truly ow'd:
Meet we the medicine of the sickly weal;
And with him pour we, in our country's purge,
Each drop of us. Len. Or so much as it needs,
To dew the sovereign flower, and drown the weeds.
Make we our march towards Birnam.

[Exeunt, marching.

SCENE III.-Dunsinane. A Room in the Castle.
Enter Macbeth, Doctor, and Attendants.
Macb. Bring me no more reports; let them fly all:
Till Birnam wood remove to Dunsinane,
I cannot taint with fear. What 's the boy Malcolm?
Was he not born of woman? The spirits that know
All mortal consequences have pronounc'd me thus:
Fear not, Macbeth; no man that 's born of woman
Shall e'er have power upon thee.' Then fly, false
And mingle with the English epicures: [thanes,
The mind I sway by, and the heart I bear,
Shall never sagg with doubt, nor shake with fear.
Enter a Servant.

The devil damn thee black, thou cream-fac'd loon;
Where gott'st thou that goose look?
Serv. There is ten thousand-
Mach. Geese, villain? Serv. Soldiers, sir.
Macb. Go, prick thy face, and over-red thy fear,
Thou lily-liver'd boy. What soldiers, patch?
Death of thy soul! those linen cheeks of thine
Are counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face?
Serv. The English force, so please you
Mach. Take thy face hence.-Seyton!--I am sick
at heart,

I

When I behold-Seyton, I say!-This push
Will cheer me ever, or dis-seat me now.
have liv'd long enough: my way of life
Is fallen into the sear, the yellow leaf:
And that which should accompany old age,
As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends,
I must not look to have; but, in their stead,
Curses not loud, but deep, mouth-honour, breath,
Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not.
Enter Seyton.

Lady M. To bed, to bed; there 's knocking at the gate. Come, come, come, come, give me your hand. What's done cannot be undone; To bed, to bed, to bed. [Exit Lady Macbeth. Doct. Will she go now to bed? Gent. Directly. Doct. Foul whisperings are abroad: Unnatural Seyton !

deeds

Do breed unnatural troubles: Infected minds
To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets.

Sey. What's your gracious pleasure? Macb.

What news more?

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Bring it after me.—

[Exit.

I will not be afraid of death and bane,
Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane.
Doct. Were I from Dunsinane away and clear,
Profit again should hardly draw me here. [Exit.
SCENE IV.-Country near Dunsinane: A Wood
in view.

Enter, with drum and colours, Malcolm, old
Siward and his Son, Macduff, Menteth, Cathness,
Angus, Lenox, Rosse, and Soldiers, marching.
Mal. Cousins, I hope the days are near at hand,
That chambers will be safe.
Ment.
We doubt it nothing.
Siw. What wood is this before us?
Ment.
The wood of Birnam.
Mal. Let every soldier hew him down a bough,
And bear 't before him; thereby shall we shadow
The numbers of our host, and make discovery
Err in report of us. Sold. It shall be done.
Siw. We learn no other, but the confident tyrant
Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure
Our setting down before 't.

Mal.

'T is his main hope: For where there is advantage to be given, Both more and less have given him the revolt; And none serve with him but constrained things, Whose hearts are absent too.

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The time approaches,

That will with due decision make us know

What we shall say we have, and what we owe.
Thoughts speculative their unsure hopes relate;
But certain issue strokes inust arbitrate:
Towards which advance the war.

[Exeunt, marching. SCENE V.-Dunsinane. Within the Castle. Enter, with drums and colours, Macbeth, Seyton, and Soldiers.

Macb. Hang out our banners on the outward walls;
The cry is still, They come :' Our castle's strength
Will laugh a siege to scorn: here let them lie,
Till famine, and the ague, eat them up:
Were they not forc'd with these that should be ours,
We might have met them dareful, beard to beard,
And beat them backward home. What is that
[A cry within, of women.
Sey. It is the cry of women, my good lord.

noise?

Mach. I have almost forgot the taste of fears: The time has been, my senses would have cool'd To hear a night-shriek; and my fell of hair Would at a dismal treatise rouse, and stir As life were in 't: I have supp'd full with horrors; Direness, familiar to my slaught'rous thoughts, Cannot once start me.-Wherefore was that cry? Sey. The queen, my lord, is dead.

Mach. She should have died hereafter; There would have been a time for such a word.To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life 's but a walking shadow; a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more: it is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.

Enter a Messenger.

Thou com'st to use thy tongue; thy story quickly.
Mess. Gracious my lord,

I should report that which I say I saw,
But know not how to do it.
Macb.

Well, say, sir.
Mess. As I did stand my watch upon the hill,
I look'd toward Birnam, and, anon, methought,
The wood began to move.
Mach.

Liar, and slave!
Mess. Let me endure your wrath if 't be not so;
[Striking him.
Within this three mile may you see it coming;
I say, a moving grove.
Macb.

I

If thou speak'st false,
Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive,
Till famine cling thee: if thy speech be sooth,
I care not if thou dost for me as much.-
I pull in resolution; and begin

To doubt the equivocation of the fiend,
That lies like truth: Fear not, till Birnain wood
Do come to Dunsinane;'-and now a wood
Comes toward Dunsinane.--Arm, arm, and out!-
There is nor flying hence, nor tarrying here.
If this which he avouches does appear,
I 'gin to be a-weary of the sun,

And wish the estate o'the world were now undone.-
Ring the alarum-bell:-Blow wind! come wrack!
At least we 'll die with harness on our back. [Exe.
SCENE VI.-The same. A Plain before the
Castle.

Enter, with drums and colours, Malcolm, old Siward, Macduff, &c., and their Army, with boughs. Mal. Now, near enough; your leavy screens throw down,

And show like those you are:-You, worthy uncle,
Shall, with my cousin, your right-noble son,
Lead our first battle: worthy Macduff, and we,
Shall take upon us what else remains to do,
According to our order. Siw. Fare you well.-
Do we but find the tyrant's power to-night,
Let us be beaten if we cannot fight. [all breath,
Macd. Make all our trumpets speak; give them
Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death.
[Exeunt. Alarums continued.
SCENE VII.-The same. Another Part of the
Plain.

Enter Macbeth.

Mach. They have tied me to a stake; I cannot fly,
But, bear-like, I must fight the course.-What 's he
That was not born of woman? Such a one
Am I to fear, or none.

Enter Young Siward.
Yo. Siw. What is thy name?
Mach.
Thou 'lt be afraid to hear it.
Yo. Siw. No; though thou call'st thyself a hotter
Than any is in hell.
[name
Mach.
My name 's Macbeth.
Yo. Siw. The devil himself could not pronounce a
More hateful to mine ear.
[title
Mach.
No, nor more fearful.
Yo. Siw. Thou liest, abhorred tyrant; with my

sword

I'll prove the lie thou speak'st.

[They fight, and young Siward is slain.
Mach.
Thou wast born of woman.
But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn,
Brandish'd by man that's of a woman born. [Exit.
Alarums. Enter Macduff.

Macd. That way the noise is :-Tyrant, show thy
face:

If thou be'st slain, and with no stroke of mine,
My wife and children's ghosts will haunt me still.
I cannot strike at wretched kernes, whose arms
Are hir'd to bear their staves; either thou, Macbeth,
Or else my sword, with an unbatter'd edge,

And to be baited with the rabble's curse.
Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane,
And thou oppos'd, being of no woman born,
Yet I will try the last: Before my body
I throw my warlike shield: lay on, Macduff;
And damn'd be him that first cries, 'Hoid, enough.'
[Exeunt, fighting.

Retreat. Flourish. Re-enter, with drum and
colours, Malcolm, old Siward, Rosse, Lenox,
Angus, Cathness, Menteth, and Soldiers.

Mal. I would the friends we miss were safe ar-
riv'd.

I sheathe again undeeded. There thou should'st be; So great a day as this is cheaply bought.
By this great clatter, one of greatest note
Seems bruited. Let me find him, fortune!
And more I beg not.
[Exit. Alarum.
Enter Malcolm and old Siward.
Siw. This way, my lord;-the castle 's gently ren-
The tyrant's people on both sides do fight; [der'd:
The noble thanes do bravely in the war;
The day almost itself professes yours,

Siw. Some must go off; and yet, by these I see;

Mal. Macduff is missing, and your noble son.
Rosse. Your son, my lord, has paid a soldier's debt:
He only liv'd but till he was a man;

The which no sooner had his prowess confirm'd,
In the unshrinking station where he fought,
But like a man he died. Siw. Then he is dead?
Rosse. Ay, and brought off the field: your cause

of sorrow

And little is to do. Mal. We have met with foes Must not be measur'd by his worth, for then
That strike beside us.
Siw.

Enter, sir, the castle.

[Exeunt. Alarum.

Re-enter Macbeth.

Maeb. Why should I play the Roman fool, and die
On mine own sword? whiles I see lives, the gashes
Do better upon them.

Macd.

Re-enter Macduff.

Turn, hell-hound, turn.
Mach. Of all men else I have avoided thee:
But get thee back, my soul is too much charg'd
With blood of thine already.

Macd.
I have no words,
My voice is in my sword; thou bloodier villain
Than terms can give thee out! [They fight.
Macb.
Thou losest labour:
As easy may'st thou the intrenchant air
With thy keen sword impress, as make me bleed:
Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests;
I bear a charmed life, which must not yield
To one of woman born.

Macd.
Despair thy charm;
And let the angel whom thou still hast serv'd
Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb
Untimely ripp'd.

Macb. Accursed be the tongue that tells me so,
For it hath cow'd my better part of man!
And be these juggling fiends no more believ'd,
That palter with us in a double sense;
That keep the word of promise to our ear,

And break it to our hope.-I'll not fight with thee.
Macd. Then yield thee, coward,

And live to be the show and gaze o' the time.
We'll have thee, as our rarer monsters are,
Painted upon a pole; and underwrit,

'Here may you see the tyrant.'

Mach.

I will not yield,

To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet,

It hath no end.
Siw.

Had he his hurts before?
Rosse. Ay, on the front.
Siw.

Why, then, God's soldier be he!
Had I as many sons as I have hairs,
And so his knell is knoll'd.
I would not wish them to a fairer death:

Mal.

He's worth more sorrow,

He's worth no more;

And that I'll spend for him.
Siw.
They say, he parted well, and paid his score: [fort.
And so, God be with him!-Here comes newer com.
Re-enter Macduff, with Macbeth's head.

Macd. Hail, king! for so thou art: Behold, where
The usurper's cursed head: the time is free: [stands
I see thee compass'd with thy kingdom's pearl,
That speak my salutation in their minds;
Whose voices I desire aloud with mine,--
Hail, king of Scotland!
All.

[men,

Hail, king of Scotland!
Flourish.
Mal. We shall not spend a large expense of time,
Before we reckon with your several loves,
And make us even with you. My thanes and kins
Henceforth be earls, the first that ever Scotland
In such an honour nam'd. What's more to do,
Which would be planted newly with the time,-
As calling home our exil'd friends abroad
That fled the snares of watchful tyranny;
Producing forth the cruel ministers
Of this dead butcher, and his fiend-like queen,
Who, as 't is thought, by self and violent hands
Took off her life;-this, and what needful else
That calls upon us, by the grace of Grace,
We will perform in measure, time, and place:
So thanks to all at once, and to each one,
Whom we invite to see us crown'd at Scone.
[Flourish. Exeunt.

T

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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 are well. Poet. I have not seen you long: How goes the Pain. It wears, sir, as it grows. [world? 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 conjur'd to attend. I know the merchant. Pain. I know them both; th' other 's a jeweller. Mer. O, 't is a worthy lord! Few.

Nay, that 's most fix'd. Mer. A most incomparable man; breath'd, as it To an untirable and continuate goodness: [were, He passes.

Few. I have a jewel here.

Mer. O, pray, let's see 't: For the lord Timon, sir?
Few. If he will touch the estimate: But, for that-
Poet. When we for recompense have prais'd the
It stains the glory in that happy verse [vile,
Which aptly sings the good."
Mer. T is a good form. [Looking at the jewel.
Few. And rich: here is a water, look you.
Pain. You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedi-
To the great lord.
[cation
Poct.
A thing slipp'd idly from me.
Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes
From whence 't is nourished: The fire i' the flint
Shows not till it be struck; our gentle flame
Provokes itself, and, like the current, flies
Each bound it chafes. What have you there?
Pain. A picture, sir.-When coines your book
Poet. Upon the heels of my presentment, sir. [forth?
Let's see your piece.

Pain.
'Tis a good piece.
Poet. So 't is this comes off well and excellent.
Pain. Indifferent.
Poet.
Admirable: How this grace
Speaks his own standing! what a mental power
This eye shoots forth! how big imagination
Moves in this lip! to the dumbness of the gesture
One might interpret.

Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life.
Here is a touch: Is 't good?
Poet.

I'll say of it
It tutors nature: artificial strife
Lives in these touches, livelier than life.

Enter certain Senators, and pass over.
Pain. How this lord 's follow'd!
Poet. The senators of Athens :-Happy men!
Pain. Look, more!

[visitors.
Poet. You see this confluence, this great flood of
I have, in this rough work, shap'd out a man
Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug
With amplest entertainment: My free drift

Halts not particularly, but moves itself
In a wide sea of wax: no levell'd malice
Infects one comma in the course I hold;
But flies an eagle flight, bold, and forth on,
Leaving no tract behind.

Pain. How shall I understand you?

Poet.

I'll unbolt to you. You see how all conditions, how all minds, (As well of glib and slippery creatures, as Of grave and austere quality,) tender down Their services to lord Timon: his large fortune, Upon his good and gracious nature hanging, Subdues and properties to his love and tendance All sorts of hearts; yea, from the glass-fac'd flat

terer

To Apemantus, that few things loves better Than to abhor himself: even he drops down The knee before him, and returns in peace Most rich in Timon's nod.

mount

Pain. I saw them speak together. Poet. Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill, Feign'd Fortune to be thron'd: The base o' the Is rank'd with all deserts, all kinds of natures, That labour on the bosom of this sphere To propagate their states: amongst them all, Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady fix'd, One do I personate of lord Timon's frame, Whom Fortune with her ivory hand wafts to her; Whose present grace to present slaves and servants Translates his rivals. Pain. 'T is conceiv'd to scope. This throne, this Fortune, and this hill methinks, With one man beckon'd from the rest below, Bowing his head against the steepy mount To climb his happiness, would be well express'd In our condition. Poet. Nay, sir, but hear me on: All those which were his fellows but of late, (Some better than his value,) on the moment Follow his strides, his lobbies fill with tendance, Rain sacrificial whisperings in his ear, Make sacred even his stirrup, and through lim Drink the free air.

Pain.

Ay, marry, what of these? Poet. When Fortune, in her shift and change of mood,

Spurns down her late belov'd, all his dependants,
Which labour'd after him to the mountain's top,
Even on their knees and hands, let him slip down,
Not one accompanying his declining foot.
Pain. 'T is common:

[tune's

A thousand moral paintings I can show,
That shall demonstrate these quick blows of for-
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 Timon, attended; the
Servant of Ventidius talking with him.
Tim.
Imprison'd is he say you?

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