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Who'd be so mock'd with glory? or to live
Enter Timon. Tim. O blessed breeding sun, draw from the earth Rotten humidity; below thy sister's orb Infect the air! Twinn'd brothers of one womb,Whose procreation, residence, and birth, Scarce is dividant,-touch them with several for
tunes; The greater scorns the lesser: Not nature,
To whom all sores lay siege, can bear great fortune,
[Digging: Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate With thy most operant poison! 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?
your sides; Pluck stout men’s pillows from below their heads: This yellow slave
Will knit and break religions; bless the accurs’d;
drum?- Thou’rt quick,
Enter Alcibiades, with drum and fife, in warlike
manner; Phrynia, and Tymandra. Alcib.
What art thou there? Speak. Tim. A beast, as thou art. The canker gnaw thy
heart, For showing me again the eyes of man! Alcib. What is thy name? Is man so hateful to
Tim. I am misanthropos, and hate mankind.
I know thee well; But in thy fortunes am unlearn’d and strange.
Tim. 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 wliore of thine Hath in her more destruction than thy sword, For all her cherubin look. Phry.
Thy lips rot off! Tim. I will not kiss thee; then the rot returns To thine own lips again. Alcib. How came the noble Timon to this
None, but to.
What is it. Timon?
thee, For thou’rt a man! Alcib. I have heard in some sort of thy mise
Tyman. Is this the Athenian minion, whom the
world Voic'd so regardfully? Tim.
Art thou Tymandra? Tyman. Yes. Tim. 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. Tyman.
Hang thee, monster! Alcib. Pardon him sweet Tymandra; for his
wits Are drown'd 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 griev'd, How cursed Athens, mindless of thy worth, Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbour states, But for thy sword and fortune, trod upon them, — Tim. I pr’ythee, beat thy drum, and get thee
gone. Alcib. I am thy friend, and pity thee, dear Ti
Tim. How dost thou pity him, whom thou dost
Why, fare thee well:
Keep't, I cannot eat it.