Timon of Athens William Shakespeare (fun to read txt) đ
- Author: William Shakespeare
Book online «Timon of Athens William Shakespeare (fun to read txt) đ». Author William Shakespeare
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!â âO, a rootâ âdear thanks!â â
Dry up thy marrows, vines, and plough-torn leas;
Whereof ungrateful 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.
âTis, then, because thou dost not keep a dog,
Whom I would imitate: consumption catch thee!
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 diseased 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 thouâlt observe,
Blow off thy cap; praise his most vicious strain,
And call it excellent: thou wast told thus;
Thou gavest thine ears like tapsters that bid welcome
To knaves and all approachers: âtis most just
That thou turn rascal; hadst thou wealth again,
Rascals should haveât. Do not assume my likeness.
Thou hast cast away thyself, being like thyself;
A madman so long, now a fool. What, thinkâst
That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain,
Will put thy shirt on warm? will these mossâd trees,
That have outlived the eagle, page thy heels,
And skip where thou pointâst out? will the cold brook,
Candied with ice, caudle thy morning taste,
To cure thy oâer-nightâs surfeit? Call the creatures
Whose naked natures live in an the spite
Of wreakful heaven, whose bare unhoused trunks,
To the conflicting elements exposed,
Answer mere nature; bid them flatter thee;
O, thou shalt findâ â
Always a villainâs office or a foolâs.
Dost please thyself inât?
If thou didst put this sour-cold habit on
To castigate thy pride, âtwere well: but thou
Dost it enforcedly; thouâldst courtier be again,
Wert thou not beggar. Willing misery
Outlives incertain pomp, is crownâd 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 shouldst desire to die, being miserable.
Not by his breath that is more miserable.
Thou art a slave, whom Fortuneâs tender arm
With favour never claspâd; 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 plunged thyself
In general riot; melted down thy youth
In different beds of lust; and never learnâd
The icy precepts of respect, but followâd
The sugarâd 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, hive with one winterâs 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 inât. Why shouldst thou hate men?
They never flatterâd 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.
I, that I was
No prodigal.
I, that I am one now:
Were all the wealth I have shut up in thee,
Iâld 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.
âTis not well mended so, it is but botchâd;
If not, I would it were.
Thee thither in a whirlwind. If thou wilt,
Tell them there I have gold; look, so I have.
The best and truest;
For here it sleeps, and does no hired harm.
Under thatâs above me.
Where feedâst thou oâ days, Apemantus?
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