And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart, To bring it into danger.
Without the Walls of Athens.
And give them title, knee, and approbation,
With fenators on the bench: this is it,
That makes the wappen'd widow wed again;
She, whom the fpitalhoufe and ulcerous fores
Would caft the gorge at, this embalms and spices
To the April day again. Come, damned earth,
Timon's Execrations on the Athenians. Let me look back upon thee, O thou wall, That girdleft in thofe wolves! dive in the earth. And fence not Athens ! Matrons, turn incon-hou common whore of mankind, that putt it odds
![[blocks in formation]](https://books.google.com.hk/books/content?id=kTEJAAAAQAAJ&hl=zh-TW&output=html_text&pg=PA646&img=1&zoom=3&q=editions:STANFORD36105043925531&cds=1&sig=ACfU3U1OisDvYw6AwXN3vdg6m1c9VZX9nw&edge=0&edge=stretch&ci=72,308,462,181)
Large-handed robbers your grave mafters are,
And pill by law! Maid, to thy mafter's bed;
Thy miftrefs is o' the brothel ! Son of fixteen,
Pluck the lin'd crutch from thy old limping fire,
With it beat out his brains! Piety and fear,
Religion to the gods, peace, juftice, truth,
Domeftic awe, night-reft, and neighbourhood,
Inftruction, manners, myfteries, and trades,
Degrees, obfervances, customs, and laws,
Decline to your confounding contraries,
And yet confufion live!-Plagues incident to men,
Your potent and infectious fevers heap
On Athens, ripe for ftroke! Thou cold fciatica,
Cripple our fenators, that their limbs may halt
As lamely as their manners. Luft and liberty
Creep in the minds and marrows of our youth;
That 'gainst the ftream of virtue they may ftrive,
And drown themfelves in riot! Itches, blains,
Sow all th' Athenian bofoms; and their crop
Be general leprofy! breath infect breath;
That their fociety, as their friendship, may
Be merely poifon! Nothing I'll bear from thee,
But nakedness, thou deteftable town!
![[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors]](https://books.google.com.hk/books/content?id=kTEJAAAAQAAJ&hl=zh-TW&output=html_text&pg=PA646&img=1&zoom=3&q=editions:STANFORD36105043925531&cds=1&sig=ACfU3U1OisDvYw6AwXN3vdg6m1c9VZX9nw&edge=0&edge=stretch&ci=71,999,456,569)
Among the rout of nations, I will make thee Do thy right nature.
Timon to Alcibiades.
Go on-here's gold-go on;
Will o'er fome high-vic'd city hang his poifon
Be as a planetary plague, when Jove
In the fick air: let not thy fword skip one:
Pity not honour'd age for his white beard;
He is an ufurer. Strike me the counterfeit matron;
It is her habit only that is honeft,
Herfelf's a bawd. Let not the virgin's cheek
That through the window-bars bore at men's eyes,
Make foft thy trenchant fword; forthofe milk paps,
Are not within the leaf of pity writ;
But fet them down horrible traitors. Spare not the babe,
Whose dimpled fmiles from fools exhaust their
To the Courtezans. Confumptions fow
In hollow bones of man; ftrike their fharp fhins,
And mar men's fpurring. Crack the lawyer's voice,
That he may never more falfe title plead,
Nor found his quillets fhrilly: hear the flamen
That fcolds against the quality of flesh,
And not believes himfe'f: down with the nose,
Down with it flat; take the bridge quite away
Of him that, his particular to foresee,
Smells from the gen'ral weal: make curl'd-pate ruffians bald,
And let the unfcarr'd braggarts of the war
Derive fome pain from you.
Timon's Reflections on the Earth.
That nature, being fick of man's unkindness,
Should yet be hungry! Common mother, thou,
Whofe womb unmeafurable, and infinite breaft,
Teems, and feeds all; whofe felf-fame mettle,
Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is puft,
Engenders the black toad, and adder blue,
The gilded newt, and eyelefs venom'd worm,
With all the abhorred births below crifp heaven,
Whereon Hyperion's quickening fire doth shine;
Yield him, who all thy human fons doth hate,
From forth thy plenteous bofom, one poor root!
Enfear thy fertile and conceptious womb!
Let it no more bring out ingrateful man!
Go great with tigers, dragons, wolves, and bears, | That never knew but better, is fome burthen.
Teem with new monsters, whom thy upward face Thy nature did commence in fufferance; time
Hath to the marble mansion all above
Hath made thee hard in 't. Why shouldst thou
Never prefented!—O, a root—dear thanks
hate men?
Dry up thy marrows, vines, and plough-torn leas,
Whereof ingrateful man, with liquorih draughts,
And morfels unctuous, greafes his pure mind,
That from it all confideration flips!
Timon's Difcourfe with Apemantus.
Apem. This is in thee a nature but affected:
A poor unmanly melancholy, sprung
From change of fortune. Why this fpade? this
place?
This flave-like habit? and thefe looks of care?
Thy flatt'rers yet wear filk, drink wine, lie foft;
Hug their difcas'd perfumes, and have forgot
That ever Timon was. Shame not thefe woods,
By putting on the cunning of a carper.
Be thou a flatt'rer now, and feek to thrive
By that which hath undone thee: hinge thy knee,
And let his very breath, whom thou 'It observe,
Blow off thy cap; praife his moft vicious ftrain,
And call it excellent. Thou waft told thus;
Thou gav'ft thine ears, like tapfters, that bid
welcome
To knaves, and all approachers: 'tis moft just
That thou turn rafcal; hadft thou wealth again,
Rafcals bould have 't. Do not affume my likeness.!
Tim. Were I like thee, I'd throw away myfelf.
Apem. Thou hast cast away thyself, being like
thyfelf,
A madman fo long, now a fool: what, think 'ft
That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain,
Will put thy fhirt on warm? will these moift trees,
That have outliv'd the eagle, page thy heels,
And skip when thou point'ft out-will the cold
brook,
Candied with ice, cawdle thy morning tafte,
To cure thy o'er-night's furfeit? Call the crea-
Whose naked natures live in all the spite
Of wreak ful heaven; whofe bare unhoufed trunks,
To the conflicting elements expos'd,
Answer mere nature-bid them flatter thee;
O! thou fhalt find-
Tim. Thou art a flave, whom fortune's tender
With favour never clafp'd; but bred a dog.
Hadft thou, like us, from our first fwath, proceeded
The fweet degrees that this brief world affords
To fuch as may the pallive d.ugs of it
Freely command, thou wouldst have plung'd thy-
In general riot; melted down thy youth
In different beds of luft; and never learn'd
The icy precepts of refpect, but follow'd
The fugar'd game before thee. But my felf,
Who had the world as my confectionary, [men
The mouths, the tongues, the eyes, and hearts of
At duty, more than I could frame employment;
That numberless upon me ftuck, as leaves
Do on the oak-have with one winter's brush
Fell from their boughs, and left me open, bare,
For every storm that blows:-1, to bear this,
They never flatter'd thee. What haft thou given?
If thou wilt curfe thy father, that poor rag
Must be thy fubject; who in fpite put ftuff
To fome fhe-beggar, and compounded thee
Poor rogue hereditary. Hence! begone.
If thou hadst not been born the worst of men,
Thou hadst been a knave, and flatterer.
O thou fweet king-killer, and dear divorce
[Looking on the gold.
'Twixt natural fon and fire! thou bright defiler
Of Hymen's pureft bed! thou valiant Mars!
Thou ever young, fresh, lov'd, and delicate wooer,
Whofe blufa doth thaw the confecrated fnow
That lies on Dian's lap! thou visible god,
That folder ft clofe impoffibilities,
And mak'st them kifs that speak'st with every
tongue,
To every purpofe O thou touch of hearts!
Think, thy flave man rebels: and by thy virtue
Set them into confounding odds, that beats
May have the world in empire.
Why should you want? behold, the earth hath
Within this mile break forth an hundred fprings;
The oaks bear mafts, the briers Scarlet hips;
The bounteous hufwife, nature, on each bufh
Lays her full mefs before you. Want! why want?
Thief. We cannot live on grafs, on berries,
As beafts, and birds, and fishes.
Tim. Nor on the beafts themselves, the birds,
and fishes;
You must eat men. Yet thanks I muft you con,
That you are thieves profeft; that you work not
In holier fhapes: for there is boundless theft
In limited profeflions. Rafcal thieves,
Here's gold: go, fuck the fubtle blood o' the grape,
Till the high fever feethe your blood to froth,
And fo 'fcape hanging: truft not the physician;
His antidotes are poifon, and he flays
More than you rob: take wealth and lives to-
gether:
Do villany; do, fince you profefs to do 't,
Like workmen I'll example you with thievery,
The fun's a thief, and with his great attraction
Robs the vaft fea; the moon 's an arrant thief,
And her pale fire the fnatches from the fun;
The fea's a thief, whofe liquid furge refolves
The moon into falt tears; the earth's a thief,
That feeds and breeds by a composture folen
From gen'ral excrement: each thing's a thief;
The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough pow'r
Have uncheck 'dtheft. Love not your felves; away;
Rob one another. There's more gold: cut throats;
All that you mect are thieves: to Athens, go,
Break open shops; nothing can you steal,
But thieves do lofe it.
Forgive my gen'ral and exceptiefs rafhness,
You perpetual-fober gods! I do proclaim
One honeft man-miftake me not-but one;
No more, I pray-and he is a steward.
How fain would I have ated all mankind,
And thou redeem'ft thyfelf: but ali, fave thee,
I fell with curfes.
Methinks, thou art more honeft now than wife
For, by oppretting and betraying me,
Thou might ft have fooner got another service:
For many to arrive at fecond mafters,
Upon their firft lord's neck.
Wrong and Infolence.
Now breathlefs wrong
Shall fit and pant in your great chairs of cafe;
And purfy infolence hall break his wind
With fear, and horrid flight.
A Ring, in a dark Pit.
Upon his bloody finger he doth wear
A precious ring, that lightens all the hole,
Which, like a taper in fome monument,
Doth thine upon the dead man's earthy cheeks,
And fhews the ragged entrails of this pit.
Young Lady playing on a Lute and singing.
Fair Philomela, the but loft her tongue,
And in a tedious fampler few'd her mind:
But, lovely niece, that mean is cut from thee;
A craftier Tereus haft thou met withal,
And he hath cut thofe pretty fingers off,
That could have better few'd than Philomel.
O, had the monfter feen thofe lily hands
Tremble, like afpen leaves, upon a lute,
And make the filken ftrings delight to kifs them;
He would not then have touch'd them for his life:
Or had he heard the heavenly harmony,
Which that fweet tongue hath made,
He would have dropp'd his knife, and fell asleep,
As Cerberus at the Thracian poet's feet.
A Lady's Tongue cut out.
O, that delightful engine of her thoughts,
WILT thou draw near the nature of the gods That blabb'd them with fuch pleafing eloquence,
Draw near them then in being merciful:
Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge.
Thanks, to men Of noble minds, is honourable mced.
An Invitation to Love.
The birds chaunt melody on every bush;
The fake lies rolled in the cheerful fun;
The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind.
And make a chequer'd fhadow on the ground:
Under their fweet fhade, Aaron, let us fit;
And-whift the babbling echo mocks the hounds,
Replying thrilly to the well-tun'd horns,
As if a double hunt were heard at once-
Let us fit down, and mark their yelling noife:
And after conflict-such as was fuppos'd
The wand'ring prince and Dido once enjoy'd,
When with a happy florm they were furpris'd,
And curtain'd with a counfel-keeping cave-
We may, each wreathed in the other's arms,
Our paftimes done, poisess a golden flumber !
Whiles hounds, and horns, and fweet melodious
Be unto us as is a nurfe's fong
[birds,
Of lullaby, to bring her babe afleep.
Vale, a dark and melancholy one defcribed.
A barren detefted vale, you fee, it is :
The trees, tho' fummer, yet forlorn and lean,
O'ercome with mofs, ard baleful miffeltoe.
Here never thines the fun; here nothing breeds,
Unless the nightly owl, or fatal raven.
And, when they fhew'd me this abhorred pit,
They told me, here, at dead time of the night,
A thoufand fiends, a thousand hiffing fnakes,
Ten thousand fwelling toads, as many urchins,
Would make fuch fearful and confufed cries,
As any mortal body, hearing it,
Should straight fall mad, or clfe die fuddenly.
Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage;
Where, like a fweet melodious bird, it fung
Sweet varied notes, enchanting every car!
A Perfon in Defpair compared to one on a Rock, &c.
For now I ftand as one upon a rock,
Environ'd with a wilderness of fea;
Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave,
Expecting ever when fome envious furge
Will in his brinifh bowels swallow him.
Tears compared to Dew on a Lily.
Stood on her cheeks; as doth the honey-dew
When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears
Upon a gather'd lily almost wither'd.
Reflections on killing a Fly.
Mar. Alas, my lord, I have but kill'd a fly.
Tit. But how, if that fly had a father and mother!
How would he hang his flender, gilded wings,
And buz lamenting doings in the air!
Poor harmleis fly !
Came here to make us merry; and thou haft kill'd
That, with his pretty buzzing melody,
him!
Lo, by thy fide, where rape and murder stands;
Now give fome furance that thou art revenge,
Stab them, or tear them on thy chariot wheels;
And then I'll come, and be thy waggoner,
And whirl along with thee about the globe,
Provide thee two proper palfries, as black as jet,
To hale thy vengeful waggon fwift away,
And find out murderers in their guilty caves:
And, when thy car is loaden with their heads,
I will difimount, and by the waggon wheel
Trot, like a fervile footman, all day long;
Even from Hyperion's rifing in the eaft,
Until his very downfal in the fea.
36. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.
Love in a brave young Soldier. CALL here my varlet, I'll unarm again: Why fhould I war without the walls of Troy, That find fuch cruel battle here within? Each Trojan, that is master of his heart, Let him to field; Troilus, alas! hath none.
The Greeks are strong, and skilful to their strength,
Fierce to their skill, and to their fiercenefs valiant;
But I ain weaker than a woman's tear,
Tamer than fleep, fonder than ignorance;
Lefs valiant than the virgin in the night,
And fkill-lefs as unpractis'd infancy.
O Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus-
When I do tell thee, there my hopes lie drown'd,
Reply not in how many fathoms deep
They lie indrench'd. I tell thee, I am mad
In Cretfid's love. Thou anfwer'ft, fhe is fair;
Pour'ft in the open ulcer of my heart
Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice;
Handieft in thy difcourfe-O, that her hand,
In whofe comparison all whites are ink,
Writing their own reproach; to whofe foft feizure
The cygnet's down is harth, and fpirit of fenfe
Hard as the palm of ploughman! This thou tell'ft
me,
As true thou tell'ft me, when I fay I love her;
But, faying thus, instead of oil and balm,
Thou lay it in every gafh that love hath given me
The knife that made it.
Success not equal to our Hopes.
The ample propofition that hope makes In all defigns begun on earth below, Fails in the promis'd largenefs: checks and dif
Grow in the veins of actions highest rear'd; As knots, by the conflux of meeting fap, Infect the found pine, and divert his grain Tortive and errant from his courfe of growth.
Take but degree away, untune that string,
And, hark, what difcord follows! each thing meets
In mere oppugnancy. The bounded waters
Should lift their bofoms higher than the fhores,
And make a fop of all this folid globe :
Strength fhould be lord of imbecillity,
And the rude fon fhould ftrike his father dead:
Force fhould be right; or, rather, right and wrong
(Between whofe endless jar juftice refides)
Should lose their names, and fo fhould juftice too.
Then every thing includes itfelf in power,
Power into will,ill into appetite;
And appetite, an univerfal wolf,
So doubly feconded with will and power,
Muft make perforce an univerfal prey,
And last cat
up
itfelf.
Conduct in War fuperior to Action. The ftill and mental parts; That do contrive how many hands fhall ftrike, When fitnefs calls them on; and know, by meafure Of their obfervant toil, the enemies' weightWhy, this hath not a finger's dignity; They call this bed-work, mapp'ry, closet war: So that the ram, that batters down the wall, For the great fwing and rudeness of his poize, They place before his hand that made the engine; Or those, that with the fineness of their fouls By reafon guide his execution.
Adverfity the Trial of Man.
-Why then, you princes,
Do you with cheeks abafh'd behold our works,
And think them fhames, which are, indeed, nought
But the protractive trials of great Jove,
To find perfiftive conftancy in men?
The fineness of which metal is not found
In fortune's love: for then the bold and coward,
'The wife and fool, the artift and unread,
The hard and foft, feem all affin'd and kin:
But, in the wind and tempeft of her frown,
Diftinction, with a broad and pow'rful fan,
Puffing at all, winnows the light away;
And what hath mafs, or matter, by itself,
Lies rich in virtue, and unmingled.
Achilles defcribed by Ulyffes.
The great Achilles-whom opinion crowns
The finew and the fore-hand of our hoft
Having his car full of his airy fame,
Grows dainty of his worth, and in his tent
Lies mocking our defigns: with him Patroclus,
Upon a lazy bed, the live-long day
Breaks fcurril jefts;
And with ridiculous and awkward action
(Which, flanderer, he imitation calls)
He pageants us. Sometime, great Agamemnon,
Thy toplefs deputation he puts on;
And, like a strutting player-whose conceit
Lies in his hamstring, and doth think it rich
To hear the wooden dialogue and found
'Twixt his ftretch'd footing and the fcaffoldage
Such to-be-pitied and o'erwrefted feeming
He acts thy greatnefs in: and when he speaks,
'Tis like a chime a mending; with terms unfquar'd,
Which, from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropt,
Would feem hyperboles. At this fufty stuff,
The large Achilles, on his preft bed lolling,
From his deep cheft laughs out a loud applaufe;
Cries- Excellent! 'tis Agamemnon just !
Now play me Neftor-hem, and ftroke thy beard,
As he, being dreft to fome oration."
That 's done as near as the extremeft ends
Of parallels; as like as Vulcan and his wife:
Yet good Achilles ftill cries-" Excellent!
'Tis Neftor right! Now play him me, Patroclus,
Arming to anfwer in a night-alarm."
And then, forfooth, the faint defects of age
Must be the scene of mirth; to cough, and fpit,
And, with a palfy fumbling on his gorget,
Shake in and out the riyet:-and at this fport
Sir Valour dies; cries-" O! enough, Patroclus, That were to enlard his fat-already pride, "Or give me ribs of steel! I fhali split all
And add more coals to Cancer, when he burns
"In pleasure of my spleen." And, in this fashion, | With entertaining great Hyperion.
All our abilities, gifts, natures, shapes,
Severals and generals of grace exact,
Achievements, plots, orders, preventions,
Excitements to the field, or fpeech for truce,
Succefs or lofs, what is or is not, ferves
As ftuff for these two to make paradoxes.
Refpe&t.
I afk, that I might waken reverence,
And bid the check be ready with a blush
Modest as morning, when the coldly cycs
The youthful Phoebus.
The wound of peace is furety, Surety fecure; but modeft doubt is call'd The beacon of the wife, the tent that fearches To the bottom of the worst.
Pleasure, and revenge,
Have ears more deaf than adders to the voice
Of any true decifion.
The Subtlety of Ulyffes, and Stupidity of Ajax. Ajax. I do hate a proud man, as I hate the engendering of toads.
Neft. Yet he loves himself: is it not strange
Ulyf. Achilles will not to the field to-morrow.
Aga. What's his excufe?
Uf. He doth rely on none;
But carries on the ftream of his difpofe,
Without obfervance or refpect of any,
In will peculiar, and in felf-admiffion.
Aga. Why will he not, upon our fair request, Untent his perfon, and fhare the air with us? Uly. Things fmall as nothing, for requeft's fake only,
He makes important: poffeft he is with greatness;
And speaks not to himself, but with a pride
That quarrels at felf-breath: imagin'd worth
Holds in his blood fuch fwoln and hot discourse,
That, 'twixt his mental and his active parts,
Kingdom'd Achilles in commotion rages,
And batters down himself: what fhould I fay?
He is fo plaguy proud, that the death-tokens of it
Cry," No recovery."
Aga. Let Ajax go to him.
Dear lord, go you, and greet him in his tent : 'Tis faid, he holds vou well; and will be led, At your requeft, a little from himself.
Úlyf. O Agamemnon, let it not be fo! We'll confecrate the steps that Ajax makes, When they go from Achilles: fhall the proud lord, That baftes his arrogance with his own feam, And never fuffers matter of the world Enter his thoughts, fave fuch as do revolve And ruminate himfelf-fhall he be worshipp'd Of that we hold an idol more than he? No, this thrice-worthy and right valiant lord Muft not fo ftale his palin, nobly acquir'd; Nor, by my will, affubjugate his merit, As amply titled as Achilles is, by going to Achilles
This lord go to him! Jupiter forbid !
And fay in thunder-" Achilles, go to him."
Neft. O, this is well; he rubs the vein of him.
Dio. And how his filence drinks up this applause!
Ajax. If I go to him with my armed fist I'll path him o'er the face.
Aga. O no, you shall not go.
Ajax. An he be proud with me, I'll pheese his pride: let me go to him.
Ulyf. Not for the worth that hangs upon our quarrel.
Ajax. A paltry, infolent fellow !
Neft. Now he defcribes himself!
Ajax. Can he not be fociable?
Ulyf. The raven chides blackness.
Ajax. I'll let his humours blood.
Aga. He'll be the phyfician that should be the
Ajax. An all men were o' my mindUlyf. Wit would be out of fashion. Ajax. He fhould not bear it fo; He fhould eat fwords firft: fhall pride carry it? Neft. An 't would, you'd carry half. [Afide. Ulf. He would have ten fhares. [Afide. Ajax. I will knead him, I'll make him fupple. Neft. He is not yet through warm; force him With praifes; pour in; his ambition 's dry.
[Afide. Ulf. My lord, you feed too much on this diflike. Neft. Our noble general, do not do so. Die. You must prepare to fight without Achilles.
Uly. Why, 'tis this naming of him does him Here is a man-but 'tis before his face [harm. I will be filent.
Neft. Wherefore fhould you fo? He is not emulous, as Achilles is.
Ulf. Know the whole world, he is as valiant. Ajax. A whorefon dog! that shall palter thus with us!
Would he were a Trojan!
Neft. What a vice were it in Ajax now-
Ulf. If he were proud?
Dio. Or covetous of praise ?
Ulf. Ay, or furly borne?
Dio. Or ftrange, or felf-affected?
Ulyf. Thank the heavens, lord, thou art of sweet
Praife him that got thee, fhe that gave thee fuck:
Fam'd be thy tutor, and thy parts of nature
Thrice fam'd beyond, beyond all erudition;
But he that difciplin'd thy arms to fight,
Let Mars divide eternity in twain,
And give him half: and for thy vigour,
Bull-bearing Milo his addition yield
To finewy Ajax. I will not praife thy wisdom,
Which, like a bourn, a pale, a fhore, confines
Thy fpacious and dilated parts: here's Neftor,
Inftructed by the antiquary times-
He muft, he is, he cannot but be wife;
|