When man's worft is, he does too much good.
Who then dares to be half fo kind again?

For bounty, that makes Gods, does ftill mar men.
My dearest Lord, bleft to be most accurs'd,
Rich only to be wretched; thy great fortunes
Are made thy chief afflictions. Alas, kind Lord!
He's flung in rage from this ungrateful feat
Of monftrous friends: nor has he with him to
Supply his life, or that which can command it :
I'll follow and enquire him out.

I'll ever ferve his mind with my best will;
Whilft I have gold, I'll be his steward ftill.

SCENE, the Woods.

Enter Timon.

[Exit'

Tim. Bleffed, breeding fun, draw from the earth.
Rotten humidity: below thy fifter's orb
Infect the air. Twinn'd brothers of one womb,
Whofe procreation, refidence, and birth

Scarce is divident, touch with feveral fortunes ;
The greater fcorns the leffer. Not ev'n nature,
To whom all fores lay fiege, can bear great fortune
But by contempt of nature.

Raife me this beggar, and denude that Lord, (17)
The fenator shall bear contempt hereditary,

The beggar native honour:

It is the pafture lards the weather's fides, (18)

The

(17) Raife me this Beggar, and deny't that Lord,] Whore is the Senfe and English of deny't that Lord? Deny him what? What preceding Noun is there, to which the Pronoun It is to be referred? And it would be abfurd to think the Poet meant, deny to raise that Lord. The Antithefis must be, let Fortune raise this Beggar, and let her frip, and defpoil that Lord of all his Pomp and Ornaments, which Senfe is compleated by this flight Alteration,

-and denude that Lord,

Mr. Warburton.

(18) It is the Rafture lards the Beggar's, Sides, This,, as the Ediwors have ordered it, is an idle Repetition at the best; fuppofing it did indeed, contain the fame Sentiment as the foregoing Lines,

But

The want that makes him lean. Who dares, who dares,
In purity of manhood ftand upright,

And fay, this man's a flatterer? if one be,
So are they all, for every greeze of fortune
Is fmooth'd by that below. The learned pate
Ducks to the golden fool: All is oblique ;
There's nothing level in our curfed natures,
But direct villany. Then be abhorr'd,
All feafts, focieties, and throngs of men!
His femblable, yea, himself, Timon difdains.-
Destruction phang mankind! Earth, yield me roots!
[Digging the earth.
Who feeks for better of thee, fawce his palate
With thy moft operant poifon !What is here?
Gold yellow, glittering, precious gold?

No, Gods, I am no idle votarist.

Roots, you clear heav'ns! thus much of this will make Black, white; fair, foul; wrong, right;

Bafe, noble: old, young; coward, valiant.

You Gods! why this? what this? you Gods! why, this Will lug your priests and fervants from

your fides : Pluck ftout mens' pillows from below their heads. This yellow flave

Will knit and break religions; bless th' accurs'd;
Make the hoar leprofy ador'd; place thieves,
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 spittle-houfe, and ulcerous fores
Would caft the gorge at, this embalms and spices
To th' April day again. Come, damned earth,

But Shakespeare meant a quite different Thing: and having, like a fenfible Writer, made a fmart Obfervation, he illuftrates it by Similitude thus:

It is the Pafture lards the Weather's Sides,
The Want that makes him lean.

And the Similitude is extreamly beautiful, as conveying this fatirical Reflexion; there is no more Difference between Man and Man in the Efteem of fuperficial or corrupt Judgments, than be tween a fat Sheep and a lean one. Mr. Warburtons

"

Thou

Thou common whore of mankind, that put'ft odds
Among the rout of nations, I will make thee

Do thy right nature.

thou'rt quick.

[March afar off.] Ha, a drum ?

But yet I'll bury theethou'lt go, (ftrong thief) When gouty keepers of thee cannot ftand

Nay, ftay thou out for earnest.

[Keeping fome gold.

Enter Alcibiades with drum and fife in warlike manner, and Phrynia and Timandra.

Alc. What art thou there? speak.

Tim. A beast, as thou art.

Cankers

gnaw thy heart,

For fhewing me again the eyes of man!

Alc. What is thy name ? is man fo hateful to thee,

That art thyself a man?

Tim. I am Mifanthropos, and hate mankind.

For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog,
That I might love thee fomething.

Alc. I know thee well:

But in thy fortunes am unlearn'd, and ftrange.

Tim. I know thee too, and more than that I know thee, I not defire to know. Follow thy drum,

With man's blood paint the ground; gules, gules;
Religious canons, civil laws are cruel;

Then what fhould war be? this fell whore of thine
Hath in her more destruction than thy sword,
For all her cherubin look.

Phry. Thy lips rot off!

Tim. I will not kifs thee, then the rot returns To thine own lips again.

Alc. 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 funs to borrow of.

Alc. Noble Timon, what friendship may I do thee? Tim. None, but to maintain my opinion.

Alc. What is it, Timon?

Tim. Promise me friend fhip, but perform none. If thou wilt not promife, the Gods plague thee, for thou art a man: if thou doft perform, confound thee, for thou art a man!

Ala

Alc. I have heard in fome fort of thy miferies. Tim. Thou faw'ft them when I had profperity. Alc. I fee them now, then was a bleffed time. Tim. As thine is now, held with a brace of harlots. Timan. Is this th' Athenian minion, whom the world Voic'd fo regardfully?

Tim. Art thou Timandra?

Timan. Yes.

Tim. Be a whore ftill: they love thee not, that use thee: Give them difeafes, leaving with thee their luft; Make ufe of thy falt-hours, feason the flaves

For tubs and baths, bring down the rofe-cheek'd youth To th' tub-faft, and the diet. (19)

Timan. Hang thee, monfter!

Alc. Pardon him, fweet Timandra, for his wits.
Are drown'd and loft in his calamities.

I have but little gold of late, brave Timon,
The want whereof doth daily make revolt
In my penurious band. I heard and griev'd,
How curfed Athens, mindlefs of thy worth,.
Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbour ftates,
But for thy fword and fortune, trod upon them-

Tim. I pr'ythee, beat thy drum, and get thee gone...
Alc. I am thy friend, and pity thee, dear Timon.
Tim. How doft thou pity him, whom thou dost trouble?
L'ad rather be alone..

tors.

(19) To the Fubfaft, and the Diet.] One might make a very long and vain Search, yet not be able to meet with this prepofterous Word Fubfaft, which has notwithstanding paffed current with all the EdiThe Author is alluding to the Lues Venerea, and its Effects. At that Time, the Cure of it was performed either by Guaiacum, or Mercurial Unctions: and in both Cafes the Patient was kept up very warm and clofe; that in the firft Application the Sweat might be promoted; and left, in the other, he fhould take Cold, which was fatal. "The Regimen for the Courfe of Guaiacum (fays Dr. Friend in his Hift. of Phyfick, Vol. II. p. 380.) was at first strangely cir- a "cumftantial; and fo rigorous, that the Patient was put into a "Dungeon in order to make him fweat; and in that manner, as, "Fallopius expreffes it, the Bones and the very man himself was macerated." As for the Unction, it was fometimes continued for thirty-feven days; (as he obferves, p. 375.) and during this time there was neceffarily an extraordinary Abftinence required. Mr. Warburton

Alc. Why, fare thee well,

Here's gold for thee.

Tim. Keep it, I cannot eat it.

Alc. When I have laid proud Athens on a heap-
Tim. Warr'ft thou 'gainft Athens ?

Alc. Ay, Timon, and have caufe.

Tim. The Gods confound them all then in thy conqueft, And after, thee, when thou haft conquered!

Alc. Why me, Timon?

Tim. That by killing of villains

Thou waft 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 fome high-vic'd city hang his poifon
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 matron,
It is her habit only that is honeft,

Herfelf's a bawd. Let not the virgin's cheek
Make foft thy trenchant fword; for thofe milk-paps,
That through the window-lawn bore at mens' eyes, (20)
Are not within the leaf of pity writ;

Set them down horrible traitors. Spare not the babe,
Whofe dimpled fmiles from fools exhauft their mercy;
Think it a bastard, whom the oracle

Hath doubtfully pronounc'd thy throat fhall cut,
And mince it fans remorfe. Swear against objects,
Put armour on thine ears, and on thine eyes;
Whofe proof, nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes,
Nor fight of priest in holy veftments bleeding,
Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay thy foldiers.
Make large confufion; and, thy fury fpent,
"Confounded be thyfelf! fpeak not, be gone.

(20) That thro' the Window-barn bere at Men's Eyes.] I cannot for my Heart imagine, what Idea our wife Editors had of a Virgin's Breaft thro' a Window-barn: which, I am fatisfied, must be a corrupt Reading. In fhort, the Poét is alluding to the decent Custom in his Time of the Women covering their Necks and Bofoms either with Lawn, or Cyprus; both which being transparent, the Poet beautifully calls it the Window-Laws,

Alc