Shakespeare's First Folio Part 527

The G.o.ds confound (heare me you good G.o.ds all) Th' Athenians both within and out that Wall: And graunt as Timon growes, his hate may grow To the whole race of Mankinde, high and low.

Amen.

Enter.

Enter Steward with two or three Seruants.

1 Heare you M[aster]. Steward, where's our Master?

Are we vndone, cast off, nothing remaining?

Stew. Alack my Fellowes, what should I say to you?

Let me be recorded by the righteous G.o.ds, I am as poore as you

1 Such a House broke?

So n.o.ble a Master falne, all gone, and not One Friend to take his Fortune by the arme, And go along with him

2 As we do turne our backes From our Companion, throwne into his graue, So his Familiars to his buried Fortunes Slinke all away, leaue their false vowes with him Like empty purses pickt; and his poore selfe A dedicated Beggar to the Ayre, With his disease, of all shunn'd pouerty, Walkes like contempt alone. More of our Fellowes.

Enter other Seruants.

Stew. All broken Implements of a ruin'd house

3 Yet do our hearts weare Timons Liuery, That see I by our Faces: we are Fellowes still, Seruing alike in sorrow: Leak'd is our Barke, And we poore Mates, stand on the dying Decke, Hearing the Surges threat: we must all part Into this Sea of Ayre

Stew. Good Fellowes all, The latest of my wealth Ile share among'st you.

Where euer we shall meete, for Timons sake, Let's yet be Fellowes. Let's shake our heads, and say As 'twere a Knell vnto our Masters Fortunes, We haue seene better dayes. Let each take some: Nay put out all your hands: Not one word more, Thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poore.

Embrace and part seuerall wayes.

Oh the fierce wretchednesse that Glory brings vs!

Who would not wish to be from wealth exempt, Since Riches point to Misery and Contempt?

Who would be so mock'd with Glory, or to liue But in a Dreame of Friendship, To haue his pompe, and all what state compounds, But onely painted like his varnisht Friends: Poore honest Lord, brought lowe by his owne heart, Vndone by Goodnesse: Strange vnvsuall blood, When mans worst sinne is, He do's too much Good.

Who then dares to be halfe so kinde agen?

For Bounty that makes G.o.ds, do still marre Men.

My deerest Lord, blest to be most accurst, Rich onely to be wretched; thy great Fortunes Are made thy cheefe Afflictions. Alas (kinde Lord) Hee's flung in Rage from this ingratefull Seate Of monstrous Friends: Nor ha's he with him to supply his life, Or that which can command it: Ile follow and enquire him out.

Ile euer serue his minde, with my best will, Whilst I haue Gold, Ile be his Steward still.

Enter.

Enter Timon in the woods.

Tim. O blessed breeding Sun, draw from the earth Rotten humidity: below thy Sisters...o...b.. Infect the ayre. Twin'd Brothers of one wombe, Whose procreation, residence, and birth, Sca.r.s.e is diuidant; touch them with seuerall fortunes, The greater scornes the lesser. Not Nature (To whom all sores lay siege) can beare great Fortune But by contempt of Nature.

Raise me this Begger, and deny't that Lord, The Senators shall beare contempt Hereditary, The Begger Natiue Honor.

It is the Pastour Lards, the Brothers sides, The want that makes him leaue: who dares? who dares In puritie of Manhood stand vpright And say, this mans a Flatterer. If one be, So are they all: for euerie grize of Fortune Is smooth'd by that below. The Learned pate Duckes to the Golden Foole. All's obliquie: There's nothing leuell in our cursed Natures But direct villanie. Therefore be abhorr'd, All Feasts, Societies, and Throngs of men.

His semblable, yea himselfe Timon disdaines, Destruction phang mankinde; Earth yeeld me Rootes, Who seekes for better of thee, sawce his pallate With thy most operant Poyson. What is heere?

Gold? Yellow, glittering, precious Gold?

No G.o.ds, I am no idle Votarist, Roots you cleere Heauens. Thus much of this will make Blacke, white; fowle, faire; wrong, right; Base, n.o.ble; Old, young; Coward, valiant.

Ha you G.o.ds! why this? what this, you G.o.ds? why this Will lugge your Priests and Seruants from your sides: Plucke stout mens pillowes from below their heads.

This yellow Slaue, Will knit and breake Religions, blesse th' accurst, Make the h.o.a.re Leprosie ador'd, place Theeues, And giue them t.i.tle, knee, and approbation With Senators on the Bench: This is it That makes the wappen'd Widdow wed againe; Shee, whom the Spittle-house, and vlcerous sores, Would cast the gorge at. This Embalmes and Spices To'th' Aprill day againe. Come d.a.m.n'd Earth, Thou common wh.o.r.e of Mankinde, that puttes oddes Among the rout of Nations, I will make thee Do thy right Nature.

March afarre off.

Ha? A Drumme? Th'art quicke, But yet Ile bury thee: Thou't go (strong Theefe) When Gowty keepers of thee cannot stand: Nay stay thou out for earnest.

Enter Alcibiades with Drumme and Fife in warlike manner, and Phrynia and Timandra.

Alc. What art thou there? speake

Tim. A Beast as thou art. The Canker gnaw thy hart For shewing me againe the eyes of Man

Alc. What is thy name? Is man so hatefull to thee, That art thy selfe a Man?

Tim. I am Misantropos, and hate Mankinde.

For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dogge, That I might loue thee something

Alc. I know thee well: But in thy Fortunes am vnlearn'd, and strange

Tim. I know thee too, and more then that I know thee I not desire to know. Follow thy Drumme, With mans blood paint the ground Gules, Gules: Religious Cannons, ciuill Lawes are cruell, Then what should warre be? This fell wh.o.r.e of thine, Hath in her more destruction then thy Sword, For all her Cherubin looke

Phrin. Thy lips rot off

Tim. I will not kisse thee, then the rot returnes To thine owne lippes againe

Alc. How came the n.o.ble Timon to this change?

Tim. As the Moone do's, by wanting light to giue: But then renew I could not like the Moone, There were no Sunnes to borrow of

Alc. n.o.ble Timon, what friendship may I do thee?

Tim. None, but to maintaine my opinion

Alc. What is it Timon?

Tim. Promise me Friendship, but performe none.

If thou wilt not promise, the G.o.ds plague thee, for thou art a man: if thou do'st performe, confound thee, for thou art a man

Alc. I haue heard in some sort of thy Miseries

Tim. Thou saw'st them when I had prosperitie

Alc. I see them now, then was a blessed time

Tim. As thine is now, held with a brace of Harlots

Timan. Is this th' Athenian Minion, whom the world Voic'd so regardfully?

Tim. Art thou Timandra?

Timan. Yes

Tim. Be a wh.o.r.e still, they loue thee not that vse thee, giue them diseases, leauing with thee their l.u.s.t. Make vse of thy salt houres, season the slaues for Tubbes and Bathes, bring downe Rose-cheekt youth to the Fubfast, and the Diet

Timan. Hang thee Monster

Alc. Pardon him sweet Timandra, for his wits Are drown'd and lost in his Calamities.

I haue but little Gold of late, braue Timon, The want whereof, doth dayly make reuolt In my penurious Band. I haue heard and greeu'd How cursed Athens, mindelesse of thy worth, Forgetting thy great deeds, when Neighbour states But for thy Sword and Fortune trod vpon them

Tim. I prythee beate thy Drum, and get thee gone

Alc. I am thy Friend, and pitty thee deere Timon