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  • Title: Timon of Athens (Folio 1, 1623)

  • Copyright Internet Shakespeare Editions. This text may be freely used for educational, non-proift purposes; for all other uses contact the Coordinating Editor.
    Author: William Shakespeare
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    Timon of Athens (Folio 1, 1623)

    Timon of Athens.
    Beleeue't that wee'l do any thing for Gold.
    Tim. Consumptions sowe
    In hollow bones of man, strike their sharpe shinnes,
    And marre mens spurring. Cracke the Lawyers voyce,
    1770That he may neuer more false Title pleade,
    Nor sound his Quillets shrilly: Hoare the Flamen,
    That scold'st against the quality of flesh,
    And not beleeues himselfe. Downe with the Nose,
    Downe with it flat, take the Bridge quite away
    1775Of him, that his particular to foresee
    Smels from the generall weale. Make curld' pate Ruffians
    And let the vnscarr'd Braggerts of the Warre
    Deriue some paine from you. Plague all,
    That your Actiuity may defeate and quell
    1780The sourse of all Erection. There's more Gold.
    Do you damne others, and let this damne you,
    And ditches graue you all.
    Both. More counsell with more Money, bounteous
    1785Tim. More whore, more Mischeefe first, I haue gi-
    uen you earnest.
    Alc. Strike vp the Drum towardes Athens, farewell
    Timon: if I thriue well, Ile visit thee againe.
    Tim. If I hope well, Ile neuer see thee more.
    1790Alc. I neuer did thee harme.
    Tim. Yes, thou spok'st well of me.
    Alc. Call'st thou that harme?
    Tim. Men dayly finde it. Get thee away,
    And take thy Beagles with thee.
    1795Alc. We but offend him, strike.
    Tim. That Nature being sicke of mans vnkindnesse
    Should yet be hungry: Common Mother, thou
    Whose wombe vnmeasureable, and infinite brest
    Teemes and feeds all: whose selfesame Mettle
    1800Whereof thy proud Childe (arrogant man) is puft,
    Engenders the blacke Toad, and Adder blew,
    The gilded Newt, and eyelesse venom'd Worme,
    With all th'abhorred Births below Crispe Heauen,
    Whereon Hyperions quickning fire doth shine:
    1805Yeeld him, who all the humane Sonnes do hate,
    From foorth thy plenteous bosome, one poore roote:
    Enseare thy Fertile and Conceptious wombe,
    Let it no more bring out ingratefull man.
    Goe great with Tygers, Dragons, Wolues, and Beares,
    1810Teeme with new Monsters, whom thy vpward face
    Hath to the Marbled Mansion all aboue
    Neuer presented. O, a Root, deare thankes:
    Dry vp thy Marrowes, Vines, and Plough-torne Leas,
    Whereof ingratefull man with Licourish draughts
    1815And Morsels Vnctious, greases his pure minde,
    That from it all Consideration slippes---
    Enter Apemantus .
    More man? Plague, plague.
    Ape. I was directed hither. Men report,
    1820Thou dost affect my Manners, and dost vse them.
    Tim. 'Tis then, because thou dost not keepe a dogge
    Whom I would imitate. Consumption catch thee.
    Ape. This is in thee a Nature but infected,
    A poore vnmanly Melancholly sprung
    1825From change of future. Why this Spade? this place?
    This Slaue-like Habit, and these lookes of Care?
    Thy Flatterers yet weare Silke, drinke Wine, lye soft,
    Hugge their diseas'd Perfumes, and haue forgot
    That euer Timon was. Shame not these Woods,
    1830By putting on the cunning of a Carper.
    Be thou a Flatterer now, and seeke to thriue
    By that which ha's vndone thee; hindge thy knee,
    And let his very breath whom thou'lt obserue
    Blow off thy Cap: praise his most vicious straine,
    1835And call it excellent: thou wast told thus:
    Thou gau'st thine eares (like Tapsters, that bad welcom)
    To Knaues, and all approachers: 'Tis most iust
    That thou turne Rascall, had'st thou wealth againe,
    Rascals should haue't. Do not assume my likenesse.
    1840Tim. Were I like thee, I'de throw away my selfe.
    Ape. Thou hast cast away thy selfe, being like thy self
    A Madman so long, now a Foole: what think'st
    That the bleake ayre, thy boysterous Chamberlaine
    Will put thy shirt on warme? Will these moyst Trees,
    1845That haue out-liu'd the Eagle, page thy heeles
    And skip when thou point'st out? Will the cold brooke
    Candied with Ice, Cawdle thy Morning taste
    To cure thy o're-nights surfet? Call the Creatures,
    Whose naked Natures liue in all the spight
    1850Of wrekefull Heauen, whose bare vnhoused Trunkes,
    To the conflicting Elements expos'd
    Answer meere Nature: bid them flatter thee.
    O thou shalt finde.
    Tim. A Foole of thee: depart.
    1855Ape. I loue thee better now, then ere I did.
    Tim. I hate thee worse.
    Ape. Why?
    Tim. Thou flatter'st misery.
    Ape. I flatter not, but say thou art a Caytiffe.
    1860Tim. Why do'st thou seeke me out?
    Ape. To vex thee.
    Tim. Alwayes a Villaines Office, or a Fooles.
    Dost please thy selfe in't?
    Ape. I.
    1865Tim. What, a Knaue too?
    Ape. If thou did'st put this sowre cold habit on
    To castigate thy pride, 'twere well: but thou
    Dost it enforcedly: Thou'dst Courtier be againe
    Wert thou not Beggar: willing misery
    1870Out-liues: incertaine pompe, is crown'd before:
    The one is filling still, neuer compleat:
    The other, at high wish: best state Contentlesse,
    Hath a distracted and most wretched being,
    Worse then the worst, Content.
    1875Thou should'st desire to dye, being miserable.
    Tim. Not by his breath, that is more miserable.
    Thou art a Slaue, whom Fortunes tender arme
    With fauour neuer claspt: but bred a Dogge.
    Had'st thou like vs from our first swath proceeded,
    1880The sweet degrees that this breefe world affords,
    To such as may the passiue drugges of it
    Freely command'st: thou would'st haue plung'd thy self
    In generall Riot, melted downe thy youth
    In different beds of Lust, and neuer learn'd
    1885The Icie precepts of respect, but followed
    The Sugred game before thee. But my selfe,
    Who had the world as my Confectionarie,
    The mouthes, the tongues, the eyes, and hearts of men,
    At duty more then I could frame employment;
    1890That numberlesse vpon me stucke, as leaues
    Do on the Oake, haue with one Winters brush
    Fell from their boughes, and left me open, bare,
    For euery storme that blowes. I to beare this,
    That neuer knew but better, is some burthen:
    1895Thy Nature, did commence in sufferance, Time
    Hath made thee hard in't. Why should'st yu hate Men?
    They neuer flatter'd thee. What hast thou giuen?