Warr‘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 conquered.
ALCIBIADES
Why me, Timon?
TIMON That by killing of villains
Thou wast born to conquer my country.
Put up thy gold.
He gives Alcibiades gold
Go on; here’s gold; go on.
Be as a planetary plague when Jove
Will o’er some high-viced city hang his poison
In the sick air. Let not thy sword skip one.
Pity not honoured 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 pronounced thy throat shall cut,
And mince it sans remorse. Swear against objects.
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 giv’st 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 wholesomeness a bawd. Hold up, you
sluts,
Your aprons mountant.
⌈He throws gold into their aprons⌉
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 pain-sick months
Be quite contrary, and thatch your poor thin roofs
With burdens of the dead—some that were hanged,
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 curled-pate
ruffians bald,
And let the unscarred 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!
Exeunt ⌈to drum and fife⌉ all but Timon
TIMON
That nature, being sick of man’s unkindness,
Should yet be hungry!
He digs the earth
Common mother—thou
Whose womb unmeasurable and infinite breast
Teems and feeds all, whose selfsame mettle
Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is puffed
Engenders the black toad and adder blue,
The gilded newt and eyeless venomed worm,
With all th‘abhorrèd births below crisp heaven
Whereon Hyperion’s quick’ning fire doth shine—
Yield him who all thy human sons do hate
From forth thy plenteous bosom, one poor root.
Ensear thy fertile and conceptions 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.
He finds a root
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.