The Complete Works of William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare (book suggestions TXT) 📖

PHRYNIA and TIMANDRA ALCIBIADES. What art thou there? Speak.

TIMON. A beast, as thou art. The canker gnaw thy heart For showing me again the eyes of man!

ALCIBIADES. What is thy name? Is man so hateful to thee That art thyself a man?

TIMON. I am Misanthropos, and hate mankind.

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

ALCIBIADES. I know thee well;

But in thy fortunes am unlearn’d and strange.

TIMON. 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.

PHRYNIA. Thy lips rot off!

TIMON. I will not kiss thee; then the rot returns To thine own lips again.

ALCIBIADES. How came the noble Timon to this change?

TIMON. 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.

ALCIBIADES. Noble Timon,

What friendship may I do thee?

TIMON. None, but to

Maintain my opinion.

ALCIBIADES. What is it, Timon?

TIMON. Promise me friendship, but perform none. If thou wilt not promise, the gods plague thee, for thou art man! If thou dost perform, confound thee, for thou art a man!

ALCIBIADES. I have heard in some sort of thy miseries.

TIMON. Thou saw’st them when I had prosperity.

ALCIBIADES. I see them now; then was a blessed time.

TIMON. As thine is now, held with a brace of harlots.

TIMANDRA. Is this th’ Athenian minion whom the world Voic’d so regardfully?

TIMON. Art thou Timandra?

TIMANDRA. Yes.

TIMON. Be a whore still; they love thee not that use thee.

Give them diseases, leaving with thee their lust.

Make use of thy salt hours. Season the slaves For tubs and baths; bring down rose-cheek’d youth To the tub-fast and the diet.

TIMANDRA. Hang thee, monster!

ALCIBIADES. 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, Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbour states, But for thy sword and fortune, trod upon them-TIMON. I prithee beat thy drum and get thee gone.

ALCIBIADES. I am thy friend, and pity thee, dear Timon.

TIMON. How dost thou pity him whom thou dost trouble?

I had rather be alone.

ALCIBIADES. Why, fare thee well;

Here is some gold for thee.

TIMON. Keep it: I cannot eat it.

ALCIBIADES. When I have laid proud Athens on a heap-TIMON. War’st thou ‘gainst Athens?

ALCIBIADES. Ay, Timon, and have cause.

TIMON. The gods confound them all in thy conquest; And thee after, when thou hast conquer’d!

ALCIBIADES. Why me, Timon?

TIMON. That by killing of villains

Thou wast 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 some high-vic’d city hang his poison In the sick air; let not thy sword skip one.

Pity not honour’d age for his white beard: He is 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, But set them down horrible traitors. Spare not the babe Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their mercy; Think it a bastard whom the oracle

Hath doubtfully pronounc’d thy throat shall cut, And mince it sans remorse. Swear against abjects; Put armour on thine ears and on thine eyes, Whose proof nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes, Nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding, Shall pierce a jot. There’s gold to pay thy soldiers.

Make large confusion; and, thy fury spent, Confounded be thyself! Speak not, be gone.

ALCIBIADES. Hast thou gold yet? I’ll take the gold thou givest me, Not all thy counsel.

TIMON. Dost thou, or dost thou not, heaven’s curse upon thee!

PHRYNIA AND TIMANDRA. Give us some gold, good Timon.

Hast thou more?

TIMON. Enough to make a whore forswear her trade, And to make whores a bawd. Hold up, you sluts, Your aprons mountant; you are not oathable, Although I know you’ll swear, terribly swear, Into strong shudders and to heavenly agues, Th’ immortal gods that hear you. Spare your oaths; I’ll trust to your conditions. Be whores still; And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you-Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up; Let your close fire predominate his smoke, And be no turncoats. Yet may your pains six months Be quite contrary! And thatch your poor thin roofs With burdens of the dead-some that were hang’d, No matter. Wear them, betray with them. Whore still; Paint till a horse may mire upon your face.

A pox of wrinkles!

PHRYNIA AND TIMANDRA. Well, more gold. What then?

Believe’t that we’ll do anything for gold.

TIMON. Consumptions sow

In hollow bones of man; strike their sharp shins, And mar men’s spurring. Crack the lawyer’s voice, That he may never more false title plead, Nor sound his quillets shrilly. Hoar the flamen, That scolds against the quality of flesh And not believes himself. Down with the nose, Down with it flat, take the bridge quite away Of him that, his particular to foresee, Smells from the general weal. Make curl’d-pate ruffians bald, And let the unscarr’d braggarts of the war Derive some pain from you. Plague all, That your activity may defeat and quell The source of all erection. There’s more gold.

Do you damn others, and let this damn you, And ditches grave you all!

PHRYNIA AND TIMANDRA. More counsel with more money, bounteous Timon.

TIMON. More whore, more mischief first; I have given you earnest.

ALCIBIADES. Strike up the drum towards Athens. Farewell, Timon; If I thrive well, I’ll visit thee again.

TIMON. If I hope well, I’ll never see thee more.

ALCIBIADES. I never did thee harm.

TIMON. Yes, thou spok’st well of me.

ALCIBIADES. Call’st thou that harm?

TIMON. Men daily find it. Get thee away, and take Thy beagles with thee.

ALCIBIADES. We but offend him. Strike.

Drum beats. Exeunt all but TIMON

TIMON. That nature, being sick of man’s unkindness, Should yet be hungry! Common mother, thou, [Digging]

Whose womb unmeasurable and infinite breast Teems and feeds all; whose selfsame mettle, Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is puff’d, Engenders the black toad and adder blue, The gilded newt and eyeless venom’d worm, With all th’ abhorred births below crisp heaven Whereon Hyperion’s quick’ning fire doth shine-Yield him, who all thy human sons doth hate, From forth thy plenteous bosom, one poor root!

Ensear thy fertile and conceptious womb, Let it no more bring out ingrateful man!

Go great with tigers, dragons, wolves, and bears; Teem with new monsters whom thy upward face Hath to the marbled mansion all above Never presented!- O, a root! Dear thanks!-

Dry up thy marrows, vines, and plough-torn leas, Whereof ingrateful man, with liquorish draughts And morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind, That from it all consideration slips-Enter APEMANTUS

 

More man? Plague, plague!

APEMANTUS. I was directed hither. Men report Thou dost affect my manners and dost use them.

TIMON. ‘Tis, then, because thou dost not keep a dog, Whom I would imitate. Consumption catch thee!

APEMANTUS. This is in thee a nature but infected, A poor unmanly melancholy sprung

From change of fortune. Why this spade, this place?

This slave-like habit and these looks of care?

Thy flatterers yet wear silk, drink wine, lie soft, Hug their diseas’d perfumes, and have forgot That ever Timon was. Shame not these woods By putting on the cunning of a carper.

Be thou a flatterer now, and seek to thrive By that which has undone thee: hinge thy knee, And let his very breath whom thou’lt observe Blow off thy cap; praise his most vicious strain, And call it excellent. Thou wast told thus; Thou gav’st thine ears, like tapsters that bade welcome, To knaves and all approachers. ‘Tis most just That thou turn rascal; hadst thou wealth again Rascals should have’t. Do not assume my likeness.

TIMON. Were I like thee, I’d throw away myself.

APEMANTUS. Thou hast cast away thyself, being like thyself; A madman so long, now a fool. What, think’st That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain, Will put thy shirt on warm? Will these moist trees, That have outliv’d the eagle, page thy heels And skip when thou point’st out? Will the cold brook, Candied with ice, caudle thy morning taste To cure thy o’ernight’s surfeit? Call the creatures Whose naked natures live in all the spite Of wreakful heaven, whose bare unhoused trunks, To the conflicting elements expos’d,

Answer mere nature-bid them flatter thee.

O, thou shalt find—

TIMON. A fool of thee. Depart.

APEMANTUS. I love thee better now than e’er I did.

TIMON. I hate thee worse.

APEMANTUS. Why?

TIMON. Thou flatter’st misery.

APEMANTUS. I flatter not, but say thou art a caitiff.

TIMON. Why dost thou seek me out?

APEMANTUS. To vex thee.

TIMON. Always a villain’s office or a fool’s.

Dost please thyself in’t?

APEMANTUS. Ay.

TIMON. What, a knave too?

APEMANTUS. If thou didst put this sour-cold habit on To castigate thy pride, ‘twere well; but thou Dost it enforcedly. Thou’dst courtier be again Wert thou not beggar. Willing misery

Outlives incertain pomp, is crown’d before.

The one is filling still, never complete; The other, at high wish. Best state, contentless, Hath a distracted and most wretched being, Worse than the worst, content.

Thou should’st desire to die, being miserable.

TIMON. Not by his breath that is more miserable.

Thou art a slave whom Fortune’s tender arm With favour never clasp’d, but bred a dog.

Hadst thou, like us from our first swath, proceeded The sweet degrees that this brief world affords To such as may the passive drugs of it Freely command, thou wouldst have plung’d thyself In general riot, melted down thy youth In different beds of lust, and never learn’d The icy precepts of respect, but followed The sug’red game before thee. But myself, Who had the world as my confectionary; The mouths, the tongues, the eyes, and hearts of men At duty, more than I could frame employment; That numberless upon me stuck, 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-I to bear this, That never knew but better, is some burden.

Thy nature did commence in sufferance; time Hath made thee hard in’t. Why shouldst thou hate men?

They never flatter’d thee. What hast thou given?

If thou wilt curse, thy father, that poor rag, Must be thy subject; who, in spite, put stuff To some she-beggar and compounded thee Poor rogue hereditary. Hence, be gone.

If thou hadst not been born the worst of men, Thou hadst been a knave and flatterer.

APEMANTUS. Art thou proud yet?

TIMON. Ay, that I am not thee.

APEMANTUS. I, that I was

No prodigal.

TIMON. I, that I am one now.

Were all the wealth I have shut up in thee, I’d give thee leave to hang it. Get thee gone.

That the whole life of Athens were in this!

Thus would I eat it. [Eating a root]

APEMANTUS. Here! I will mend thy feast.

[Offering him food]

TIMON. First mend my company: take away thyself.

APEMANTUS. So I shall mend mine own by th’ lack of thine.

TIMON. ‘Tis not well mended so; it is but botch’d.

If not,