Infect the air. Twinned brothers of one womb,

Whose procreation, residence, and birth

Scarce is dividant, touch them with several fortunes,

The greater scorns the lesser. Not nature,

To whom all sores lay siege, can bear great fortune

But by contempt of nature.

It is the pasture lards the brother’s sides,

The want that makes him lean.

Raise me this beggar and demit that lord,

The senator shall bear contempt hereditary,

The beggar native honour. Who dares, who dares

In purity of manhood stand upright

And say ‘This man’s a flatterer’? If one be,

So are they all, for every grece of fortune

Is smoothed by that below. The learnèd pate

Ducks to the golden fool. All’s obliquy;

There’s nothing level in our cursed natures

But direct villainy. Therefore be abhorred

All feasts, societies, and throngs of men.

His semblable, yea, himself, Timon disdains.

Destruction fang mankind. Earth, yield me roots.

He digs

Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate

With thy most operant poison.

He finds gold

What is here?

Gold? Yellow, glittering, precious gold?

No, gods, I am no idle votarist:

Roots, you clear heavens. Thus much of this will

make

Black white, foul fair, wrong right,

Base noble, old young, coward valiant.

Ha, you gods! Why this, what, this, you gods? Why,

this

Will lug your priests and servants from your sides,

Pluck stout men’s pillows from below their heads.

This yellow slave

Will knit and break religions, bless th’accursed,

Make the hoar leprosy adored, place thieves,

And give them title, knee, and approbation

With senators on the bench. This is it

That makes the wappered widow wed again.

She whom the spittle house and ulcerous sores

Would cast the gorge at, this embalms and spices

To th’ April day again. Come, damned earth,

Thou common whore of mankind, that puts odds

Among the rout of nations; I will make thee

Do thy right nature.

March afar off

Ha, a drum! Thou’rt quick;

But yet I’ll bury thee.

He buries gold

Thou’lt go, strong thief,

When gouty keepers of thee cannot stand.

He keeps some gold

Nay, stay thou out for earnest.

Enter Alcibiades, with soldiers playing drum and

fife, in warlike manner; and 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 unlearned 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 promise, the gods plague thee, for thou art a man. If thou dost not 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 blessèd time.

TIMON

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

TIMANDRA

Is this th’Athenian minion, whom the world

Voiced so regardfully?

SIMON 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-cheeked youth

To the tub-fast and the diet.

TIMANDRA Hang thee, monster!

ALCIBIADES

Pardon him, sweet Timandra, for his wits

Are drowned 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 grieved

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