That girdles in those wolves, dive in the earth,

And fence not Athens! Matrons, turn incontinent!

Obedience fail in children! Slaves and fools,

Pluck the grave wrinkled senate from the bench

And minister in their steads! To general filths

Convert o‘th’ instant, green virginity!

Do’t in your parents’ eyes. Bankrupts, hold fast!

Rather than render back, out with your knives,

And cut your trusters’ throats. Bound servants, steal!

Large-handed robbers your grave masters are,

And pill by law. Maid, to thy master’s bed!

Thy mistress is o’th’ brothel. Son of sixteen,

Pluck the lined crutch from thy old limping sire;

With it beat out his brains! Piety and fear,

Religion to the gods, peace, justice, truth,

Domestic awe, night rest, and neighbourhood,

Instruction, manners, mysteries, and trades,

Degrees, observances, customs, and laws,

Decline to your confounding contraries,

And let confusion live! Plagues incident to men,

Your potent and infectious fevers heap

On Athens, ripe for stroke! Thou cold sciatica,

Cripple our senators, that their limbs may halt

As lamely as their manners! Lust and liberty,

Creep in the minds and marrows of our youth,

That ‘gainst the stream of virtue they may strive

And drown themselves in riot! Itches, blains,

Sow all th’Athenian bosoms, and their crop

Be general leprosy! Breath infect breath,

That their society, as their friendship, may

Be merely poison!

⌈He tears off his clothes⌉

Nothing I’ll bear from thee

But nakedness, thou detestable town;

Take thou that too, with multiplying bans.

Timon will to the woods, where he shall find

Th‘unkindest beast more kinder than mankind.

The gods confound—hear me you good gods all—

Th’Athenians, both within and out that wall;

And grant, as Timon grows, his hate may grow

To the whole race of mankind, high and low.

Amen.

Exit

4.2 Enter Flavius, with two or three Servants

FIRST SERVANT

Hear you, master steward, where’s our master?

Are we undone, cast off, nothing remaining?

FLAVIUS

Alack, my fellows, what should I say to you?

Let me be recorded: by the righteous gods,

I am as poor as you.

FIRST SERVANT Such a house broke,

So noble a master fall’n? All gone, and not

One friend to take his fortune by the arm

And go along with him?

SECOND SERVANT As we do turn our backs

From our companion thrown into his grave,

So his familiars to his buried fortunes

Slink all away, leave their false vows with him

Like empty purses picked; and his poor self,

A dedicated beggar to the air,

With his disease of all-shunned poverty,

Walks like contempt alone.

Enter other Servants

More of our fellows.

FLAVIUS

All broken implements of a ruined house.

THIRD SERVANT

Yet do our hearts wear Timon’s livery.

That see I by our faces. We are fellows still,

Serving alike in sorrow. Leaked is our barque,

And we, poor mates, stand on the dying deck

Hearing the surges’ threat. We must all part

Into this sea of air.

FLAVIUS

Good fellows all,

The latest of my wealth I’ll share amongst you.

Wherever we shall meet, for Timon’s sake

Let’s yet be fellows. Let’s shake our heads and say,

As ‘twere a knell unto our master’s fortunes,

’We have seen better days.’

He gives them money

Let each take some.

Nay, put out all your hands. Not one word more.

Thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poor.

They embrace, and the Servants part several ways

O, the fierce wretchedness that glory brings us!

Who would not wish to be from wealth exempt,

Since riches point to misery and contempt?

Who would be so mocked with glory, or to live

But in a dream of friendship,

To have his pomp and all what state compounds

But only painted like his varnished friends?

Poor honest lord, brought low by his own heart,

Undone by goodness! Strange, unusual blood

When man’s worst sin is he does too much good!

Who then dares to be half so kind again?

For bounty, that makes gods, does still mar men.

My dearest lord, blessed to be most accursed,

Rich only to be wretched, thy great fortunes

Are made thy chief afflictions. Alas, kind lord!

He’s flung in rage from this ingrateful seat

Of monstrous friends;

Nor has he with him to supply his life,

Or that which can command it.

I’ll follow and enquire him out.

I’ll ever serve his mind with my best will.

Whilst I have gold I’ll be his steward still.

Exit

4.3 Enter Timon ⌈from his cave⌉ in the woods, ⌈half naked, and with a spade⌉

TIMON

O blessèd breeding sun, draw from the earth

Rotten humidity; below thy sister’s orb