SCENE III. The Woods. Enter TIMON. Tim. O blessed breeding sun, draw from the earth Rotten humidity; below thy sister's orb3 Infect the air! Twinn'd brothers of one womb,- Scarce is dividant,-touch them with several fortunes; To whom all sores lay siege, can bear great fortune, Raise me this beggar, and denude that lord; It is the pasture lards the brother's sides, The want that makes him lean. Who dares, who dares, In purity of manhood stand upright, And say, This man's a flatterer? if one be, below thy sister's orb-] That is, the moon's, this sublu nary world. Not nature, To whom all sores lay siege, can bear great fortune, But by contempt of nature,] Mr. M. Mason observes, that this passage" but by the addition of a single letter may be rendered clearly intelligible; by merely reading natures instead of nature." The meaning will then be-" Not even beings reduced to the utmost extremity of wretchedness, can bear good fortune, without contemning their fellow-creatures." - for every grize of fortune-] Grize for step or degree. But direct villainy. Therefore, be abhorr'd fair; Wrong, right; base, noble; old, young; coward, valiant. Ha, you gods! why this? What this, you gods? Why this Will lug your priests and servants from your sides; Will knit and break religions; bless the accurs'd; 6 fang mankind!] i. e. seize, gripe. 7 no idle votarist.] No insincere or inconstant supplicant. Gold will not serve me instead of roots. JOHNSON. 8 you clear heavens!] This may mean either ye cloudless skies, or ye deities exempt from guilt. 9 To the April day again.] The April day does not relate to the widow, but to the other diseased female, who is represented as the outcast of an hospital. She it is whom gold embalms and spices to the April day again: i. e. gold restores her to all the freshness and sweetness of youth. Do thy right nature.'-[March afar off.]—Ha! a drum?-Thou'rt quick,2 But yet I'll bury thee: Thou'lt go, strong thief, [Keeping some Gold. Enter ALCIBIADES, with Drum and Fife, in warlike manner; PHRYNIA and TIMANDRA. Alcib. Speak. What art thou there? 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. Phry. 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? Do thy right nature.] Lie in the earth where nature laid thee. VOL. VIII. 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. 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? Tim. Timan. Yes. Art thou Timandra? Tim. Be a whore still! they love thee not, that use thee; Give them diseases, leaving with thee their lust. Timan. Hang thee, monster! Alcib. Pardon him, sweet Timandra; for his wits Are drown'd 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, Thou wilt not promise, &c.] That is, however thou may'st act, since thou art a man, hated man, I wish thee evil. Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbour states, But for thy sword and fortune, trod upon them,— Tim. I pr'ythee, 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? 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. Tim. That, Why me, Timon? By killing villains, thou wast born to conquer Put up thy gold; Go on,-here's gold,-go on; Will o'er some high-vic'd city hang his poison 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, Herself's a bawd: Let not the virgin's cheek Make soft thy trenchant sword; for those milk paps, 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; |