Timon of Athens (1981) - full transcript

[medieval music]

[crowd chatters]

Good day sir.

I'm glad you're well.

I have not seen you
long, how goes the world?

It wears, sir, as it grows.

Aye, that's well known.

But what particular rarity?

what strange, which
manifold record not matches?

See, magical bounty!

All these spirits thy powers
hath conjured to attend.



I know the merchant.

I know them both, the other's a jeweler.

It is a worthy lord.

Nay, that's most fixed.

A most incomparable man,
breathed, as it were,

to an untirable and continuate
goodness, he passes.

I have a jewel here.

Pray, let's see it, for
the Lord Timon, sir?

If he will touch the estimate.

But, for that.

It is a good form.

[Jeweler] And rich.

You are rapt, sir, in some work,

some dedication to the great lord.



A thing slipped idly from me.

Our poesy.

Is as a gum.

Which oozes from whence it is nourished

the fire in the flint

shows not till it be struck

our gentle flame provokes itself
and like the current flies,

each bound it chafes.

What have you there?

A picture, sir.

When comes your book forth?

Upon the heels of my presentment, sir.

Let's see your piece.

It's a good piece.

So it is.

This comes off well and excellent.

Indifferent.

Admirable, how this grace
speaks his own standing!

What a mental power

this eye shoots forth!

How big imagination moves in this lip,

to the dumbness of the
gesture one might interpret.

It's a pretty mocking of the life.

Here's a touch, is it good?

I will say of it,

it tutors nature, artificial strife

lives in these touches,
livelier than life.

[Painter] How this lord is followed.

[poet] Senators of Athens, happy man.

Look, more.

You see this confluence,
this great flood of visitors.

I have, in this rough
work, shaped out a man,

whom this beneath world

doth embrace and hug with
amplest entertainment.

My free drift halts not particularly,

but moves itself in a wide sea of tax.

No leveled malice infects one
comma in the course I hold

but flies an eagle
flight, bold and forth on,

leaving no tract behind.

How shall I understand you?

I will unbolt to you.

You see how all conditions, how all minds,

as well of glib and slippery creatures

as of grave and austere quality,

tender down their services to Lord Timon.

His large fortune upon his good
and gracious nature hanging,

subdues and properties
to his love and tendance

all sorts of hearts.

Yea, from the glass-faced flatterers,

to Apemantus, whom few things loves better

than to abhor himself,

even he drops down the knee before him,

and returns in peace
most rich in Timon's nod.

I saw them speak together.

Sir.

I have on a high and pleasant hill,

feigned fortune to be throned.

The base of the mount is ranked

with all deserts, all kind of natures,

That labor on the bosom of this sphere

to propagate their states.

Amongst them all,

whose eyes are on this
sovereign lady fixed,

one do I personate of Lord Timon's frame,

whom Fortune with her
ivory hand wafts to her.

Whose present grace to
present slaves and servants

translates his rivals.

It is conceived to scope.

This throne, this fortune,
and this hill, methinks,

With one man beckoned from the rest below,

bowing his head against the sleepy mount

to climb his happiness,
would be well expressed

in our condition.

Nay, sir, but hear me on.

All those which were
his fellows but of late,

but of late even better than his value,

on the moment follow his strides,

his lobbies fill with tendance,

rain sacrificial whisperings in his ear,

make sacred even his stirrup,

and through him drink the free air.

Aye, marry what of these?

When fortune in her
shift and change of mood

spurns down her late
beloved, all his dependents

that labored after him
to the mountain's top

even on their knees and
hands, let him slip down,

not one accompanying his declining foot.

It is common.

A thousand moral paintings I can show

that shall demonstrate these
quick blows of fortune's

more pregnantly than words.

Yet you do well to show Lord Timon

that mean eyes have seen
the foot above the head.

Imprisoned is he, say you?

Aye, my good lord, five
talents is his debt,

his means most short, his
creditors most strait.

Your honorable letter he desires

to those have shut him up,

which failing, periods his comfort.

Noble Ventidius.

Well, I am not of that
feather to shake off

my friend when he most needs me.

I do know him a gentleman
that well deserves a help,

which he shall have.

I'll pay the debt, and free him.

Your Lordship ever binds him.

Yes, commend me to him,
I will send his ransom,

and being enfranchised,
bid him come to me.

It is not enough to help the feeble up,

but to support him after.

Lord Timon, hear me speak.

Yes, freely, good father.

Thou hast a servant named Lucilious.

Yes I have, so what of him?

Most noble Timon, call
the man before thee.

Attends he here or no?

Lucilious!

Here at your lordship's service.

This fellow here, lord
Timon, this thy creature,

at night frequents my house.

I am a man that from my first

have been inclined to thrift,

and my estate deserves an heir more raised

than one which holds a trencher.

Well, what further?

One only daughter have I,

no kin else, on whom I may
confer what I have got.

The maid is fair, of the
youngest for a bride,

and I have bred her at my dearest cost

in qualities of the best.

This man of thine attempts her love.

I prithee, noble lord,

join with me to forbid him her resort.

Myself have spoke in vain.

The man is honest.

Therefor he will be, Timon.

His honesty rewards him in itself,

it must not bear my daughter!

Does she love him?

She is young and apt.

Our own precedent passions do instruct us

what levity's in youth.

Love you, the maid?

Aye, my good lord and she accepts of it.

If in her marriage, my consent is missing,

I call the gods to witness

I will choose mine heir

from forth the beggars of this world,

and dispossess her all.

How shall she be endowed

if she be mated with an equal husband?

There's three talents on
the present, in future, all.

This gentleman of mine has served me long,

to build his fortune I
will strain a little,

for it is a bond in men.

Give him thy daughter.

What you bestow, in him I'll counterpoise,

make him weigh with her.

My noble lord.

Pawn me to this, your honor,

she is his.

My hand to you, my honor on my promise.

Humbly I thank your lordship.

Never may the state or
fortune fall into my keeping,

which is not owed to you!

Vouch safe my labor, and
long live your lordship.

I thank you.

You shall here from me anon.

What have you there, my friend?

A piece of painting,

which I do beseech your
lordship to accept.

Painting is welcome.

The painting is almost a natural man,

or since dishonor traffics
with man's nature,

he is but outside,

these penciled figures are
even such as they give out.

I like your work,

and you shall find I like it.

Wait attendance till you
hear further from me.

Gods preserve ye.

Well fare you, gentleman,
give me your hand.

We must needs dine together.

Sir, your jewel hath
suffered under praise.

What my lord?

A dispraise?

A more satiety of commendations.

[crowd laughs]

If I should pay you for
it as it is extolled,

It would unclew me quite.

My lord, it is rated

as those which sell would give,

but you well know, things of like value

differing in the owners are
prized by their masters.

Believe it, dear lord, you mend
the jewel by the wearing it.

Well mocked.

Oh no my good lord, he
speaks the common tongue

which all men speak with him.

Look who comes here.

Will you be chid?

We'll bear with your lordship.

He'll spare none.

Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus.

Till I be gentle, stay
thou for thy good morrow.

When thou art Timon's dog,
and these knaves honest.

Why dost thou call them knaves?

Thou knowest them not.

Are they not Athenians?

Yes.

Then I repent not.

[crowd laughs softly]

You know me, Apemantus.

Thou knowest I do,

I call thee by thy name.

Thou art proud, Apemantus?

Of nothing so much that
I am not like Timon.

Whither art going?

To knock out an honest Athenian's brains.

Now that's a deed thou'll die for.

Right, if doing nothing
be death by the law.

How likes thou this picture, Apemantus?

The best, for the innocence.

Wrought he not well that painted it?

He wrought better that made the painter

and yet he's but a filthy piece of work.

You're a dog.

Thy mother's of my generation,

what she if I be a dog?

Wilt dine with me, Apemantus?

No.

I eat not lords.

Well thou shouldst,
thou'ldst anger ladies.

They eat lords, so they
come by great bellies.

That's a lascivious apprehension.

So thou apprehendest it,
take it for thy labor.

How dost thy like this jewel, Apemantus?

Not as well as plain-dealing,

which will not cost a man a doit.

What dost thou think it's worth?

Not worth my thinking.

[crowd laughs]

How now poet?

How now, philosopher?

Thous liest.

Art not one?

Yes.

Then I lie not.

Art thou not a poet?

Yes.

Then thou liest.

Look in thy last work,

where thou hast feigned
him a worthy fellow.

It's not feigned, it is so.

Yes, he is worthy of thee,

and to pay thee for thy labor.

he that loves to be flattered
is worthy of the flatterer.

Heavens, that I were a lord!

What wouldst thou do then, Apemantus?

Even as Apemantus does now,
hate a lord with my heart.

What, thyself?

Aye.

Wherefore?

That I no angry wits to be a lord.

[Timon laughs]

Art not thou a merchant?

Aye, Apemantus.

Traffic confound thee,
if the gods will not.

If traffic do it, the gods do it.

Traffic's thy god, and
thy god confound thee!

[trumpet sounds]

What trumpet's that?

It is Alcibiades, and some twenty horse,

all of companionship.

Pray entertain them,
give them guide to us.

Now, go not you hence
till I have thanked you,

and when dinner's done,
you show me this piece.

I am joyful of your sights.

[crowd applauds]

Most welcome sir!

Sir, you have saved my longing,

and I feed most hungerly on your sight.

Right welcome sir.

Ere we depart,

we'll share a bounteous
time in different pleasures.

Pray, pray, let us in.

So, so, there!

Aches contract and starve
your supple joints!

That there should be small love
amongst these sweet knaves,

and all this courtesy!

The strain of man's bred
out into baboon and monkey.

What time of day is it Apemantus?

Time to be honest.

That time serves still.

The more accursed thou
that still omits it.

Thou art going to lord Timon's feast?

Aye.

To see meat fill knaves
and wine heat fools.

Fare thee well, fare thee well.

Thou art a fool to bid me farewell twice.

Why, Apemantus?

Shouldst have kept one to thyself,

for I mean to give thee none.

Hang thyself.

No, I will do nothing at thy bidding,

make thy requests to thy friend.

Away, unpeaceable dog,
or I'll spurn thee hence!

I will fly like a dog, the
heels of the ass, hee haw.

He is opposite to humanity.

Come, shall we in and
taste lord Timon's bounty?

He outgoes the very heart of kindness.

He pours it out.

Plutus, the god of gold,

is but his steward.

No meed, but he repays
sevenfold above itself,

no gift to him but breeds the giver

a return exceeding all use of quittance.

The noblest mind he carries
that ever governed man.

Long may he live in fortunes.

Shall we in?

I'll keep you company.

Most honored Timon!

Ventidius!

It hath pleased the gods to
remember my father's age,

and call him to long peace.

He is gone happy, and has left me rich,

and as in grateful virtue I am bound

to your free heart, I
do return those talents,

doubled with thanks and service,

from whose help I derived liberty.

by no means, honest Ventidius,

you mistake my love.

I gave it freely ever,

and there's none can truly
say he gives, if he receives.

If our betters play at that game,

we must not dare to imitate them,

for faults that are rich are fair.

A noble spirit!

My lord.

Ceremony was but devised at first

to set a gloss on faint
deeds, hollow welcomes,

recanting goodness, sorry ere it is shown,

but where there is true
friendship, there needs none.

Pray, sit, more welcome
are ye to my fortunes

than my fortunes are to me.

My lord, we have always confessed it.

Oh, confessed it!

Hanged it, have you not?

[crowd chatters]

Apemantus, you are welcome.

No, you shall not make me welcome.

I've come to have thee
thrust me out of doors.

Fie, thou art a churl,

you've a humor that does not become a man,

it is much to blame.

They say, my lords,

[speaks in foreign language]

but 'yond man is ever angry.

Go on, let him have a table by himself,

for he does neither affect company,

nor is he fit for it, indeed.

Let me stay at thine apperil, Timon.

I come to observe.

I give thee warning on it.

I take no heed of thee.

Thou art an Athenian, therefore welcome.

I myself would have no power.

Prithee, let my meat make thee silent.

I scorn thy meat, it would choke me,

for I should ne'er flatter thee.

Oh you gods, what a
number of men eats Timon,

and he sees 'em not!

It grieves me to see
so many dip their meat

in one man's blood,

and all the madness is,
he cheers them up too.

I wonder men dare trust
themselves with men.

Methinks they should
invite them without knives,

good for their meat, and
safer for their lives.

There's much example for it,

the fellow that sits next to him,

now parts bread with him,

pledges the breath of
him in a divided draught,

is the readiest man to kill him.

It has been proved.

If I were a huge man,

I would fear to drink at meals,

lest they should spy my
windpipe's dangerous notes.

Great men should drink with
harness on their throats.

My lords.

In heart.

[crowd applauds]

And let the health go round.

My lord.

Oh let it flow this way, my good lord.

Flow this way!

A brave fellow, he keeps his tides well.

Those healths will make thee
and thy state look ill, Timon.

Here's that which is
too weak to be a sinner,

honest water, which ne'er
left man in the mire.

It and my food are equals.

[crowd laughs]

There's no odds.

Feasts are too proud to
give thanks to the gods.

Immortal gods, I crave no pelf,

I pray for no man but myself.

Grant I may never prove so fond,

to trust man on his oath or bond.

Or a harlot, for her weeping.

Or a dog, that seems a-sleeping.

Or a keeper with my freedom.

Or my friends, if I should need 'em.

Amen.

So fall to it.

Rich men sin, and I eat root.

Much good dich thy good heart, Apemantus.

[medieval music plays]

[crowd chatters]

[crowd applauds]

[claps]

May it please your honor, Lord Lucious,

out of his free love, I present it to you,

four milk white horses trapped in silver.

I shall accept them fairly,

let let the presents
be worldly entertained.

If it please you my lord,

lord Lucullous entreats
your company tomorrow

to hunt with him,

and has sent your honor
two brace of greyhounds.

[crowd applauds]

Let them be well received,
not without fair reward.

Captain Alcibiades, your
heart's in the field now.

My heart's ever at your
service, my good lord.

You'd rather be at a breakfast of enemies

than a dinner of friends.

So they were bleeding-new, my lord,

there's no meat like them.

I could wish my best
friend at such a feast

Would all those flatterers
were thy enemies then,

that then thou mightst
kill 'em and bid me to 'em!

[pounds the table]

Might we but have that happiness, my lord,

that you would once use our hearts,

whereby we might express
some part of our zeals,

we should think ourselves forever perfect.

[crowd applauds]

No doubt, my good friends,

but the gods themselves have provided

I shall have much help from you.

How had you been my friends else?

Why have you that charitable
title from thousands,

did not you chiefly belong to my heart?

I have told more of you to myself

than you can with modesty
speak in your own behalf.

And thus far I confirm you.

[polite applause]

Oh you gods, think I,

what need we have any friends,

if we ne'er have need of 'em?

They're the most needless
creatures living,

should we ne'er have use for 'em,

and would most resemble sweet instruments

hung up in cases that keep
their sounds to themselves.

[polite applause]

Why, I have often wished myself poorer,

that I might come nearer to you.

We're born to do benefits,

and what better or properer
can we call our own

than the riches of our friends?

[crowd pounds on the table]

What a precious comfort 'tis,

to have so many, like brothers,

commanding one another's fortunes!

Joy is e'en made away ere it can be born!

Mine eyes cannot hold out water, methinks,

to forget their faults, I drink to you.

[crowd applauds]

[Apemantus] Thou weeps to
make them drink, Timon.

Joy had the like conception in our eyes,

and at that instant like a babe sprung up.

I laugh to think that babe a bastard.

I promise you, my lord, you moved me much.

Much!

[trumpet sounds]

How now, what means that trump?

Please you, my lord,

there are certain ladies
most desirous of admittance.

Ladies?

What are there wills?

There comes with them
a forerunner, my lord,

which bears that office,
to signify their pleasures.

Well, let them have kind admittance.

Music, make their welcome.

[upbeat music]

[crowd applause]

♪ Hail hail ♪

♪ Hail to thee worthy Timon ♪

♪ And to all ♪

♪ That of his bounties taste. ♪

♪ The five best senses ♪

♪ Acknowledge thee their patron ♪

♪ And come freely to gratulate ♪

♪ Thy plenteous bosom ♪

♪ And come freely to gratulate ♪

♪ Thy plenteous bosom ♪

♪ Th'ear, taste, touch, ♪

♪ Th'ear, taste, touch, ♪

♪ Pleased from thy table rise ♪

♪ Pleased from thy table rise ♪

♪ Pleased from thy table rise ♪

♪ Pleased from thy table rise ♪

♪ They only now come but
to feast thine eyes ♪

♪ They only now come but
to feast thine eyes ♪

You see my lord, how
ample you are beloved.

[crowd applauds]

[dramatic music]

Hoy day, what a sweep of
vanity comes this way!

[soft music]

They dance, they are mad women.

Like madness is the glory of this life.

As this pomp shows to
a little oil and root.

We make ourselves fools,
to disport ourselves.

And spend our flatteries,

to drink those men upon whose
age we void it up again,

with poisonous spite and envy.

Who lives that's not depraved or depraves?

Who dies, that bears not one spurn

to their graves of their friends' gift?

I should fear those
that dance before me now

would one day stamp upon me.

It has been done.

Men shut their doors
against a setting sun.

You have done our pleasures
much grace, fair ladies.

Set a fair fashion on our entertainment,

I'm to thank you for it.

My lord, you take us even at the best.

Faith, for the worst is filthy

and would not hold taking, I doubt me.

Flavius, the little
casket bring me hither.

Yes, my lord.

More jewels yet.

Well, there's no crossing
him in his humor.

Else I should tell him,
well in faith I should.

When all's spent, he'd be
crossed then, and he could.

'Tis pity bounty had not eyes behind,

that man might ne'er be
wretched for his mind.

Ah Flavius.

My lord, honor me so much,
I surmise this jewel.

Accept it, and wear it in kind my lord.

But I'm so far already in your gifts.

So are we all.

I beseech your honor,

vouchsafe me a word.

It does concern you near.

Near, well then another
time I'll hear you.

What will this come to?

He commands us to provide
and give great gifts,

and all out of an empty coffer.

Nor will he know his
purse, or yield me this,

to show him what a beggar his heart is,

being of no power to make his wishes good.

His promises fly so beyond his state

that what he speaks is all in debt,

he owes for every word.

He is so kind that he
now pays interest for it,

his land's put to their books.

Well, would I were
gently put out of office

before I were forced out!

Happier is he that has no friend to feed

than such that do e'en enemies exceed.

I bleed inwardly for my lord.

You do yourselves too much wrong,

you bate too much of your own merits.

Here, my lord, a token of our love.

With more than common
thanks, I will receive it.

Oh, he is the very soul of bounty!

And now I do remember, my lord,

you gave good words the other day

of a bay courser I rode on.

It is yours, because you liked it.

I beseech you, pardon
me, my lord, in that.

You may take my word,

I know, no man can justly
praise but what he does affect.

I weigh my friend's
affection with mine own,

I'll tell you true.

I'll call to you.

Oh none so welcome.

None.

I take all and your several visitations,

so kind to heart, 'tis not enough to give.

Methinks, I could deal
kingdoms to my friends,

and ne'er be weary.

Alcibiades.

Thou are a soldier, therefore seldom rich,

it comes in charity to thee.

All thy living is amongst the dead,

all the lands thou hast
lie in a pitched field.

Aye, defiled lands, my lord.

We are so virtuously bound.

And I to you!

So infinitely endeared.

So I to you!

Lights!

More lights!

The best of happiness, honor and fortunes,

keep with you, lord Timon.

Ready for his friends!

What a coil's here,

serving of becks and jutting-out of bums!

I doubt whether their legs

are worth the sums that are paid for them.

Friendship's full of dregs.

Methinks, false hearts
should never have sound legs.

Thus honest fools lay out
their wealth on courtesies.

Now, Apemantus, if thou wert not sullen,

I'd be good to thee.

No, I'll nothing.

For if I should be bribed too,

there would be none
left to rail upon thee,

and then thou wouldst sin the faster.

Thou givest so long, Timon,

I fear me thou wilt give away
thyself in paper shortly.

What need these feasts,
pomps and vain glories?

Nay, you begin to rail upon society,

once, I am sworn not
to give regard to you.

Farewell, come again with better music.

So, thou wilt not hear me now,

thou shalt not then.

I'll lock thy heaven from thee.

Oh that men's ears should be

to counsel deaf,

but not to flattery!

My lord, for thee!

Now haste you to Lord Timon.

Importune him for my monies.

Be not ceased with slight denial,

nor then silenced when.

Commend me to your master,

and the cap plays in the right hand, thus,

but tell him,

My uses cry to me, I must
serve my turn out of mine own.

His days and times are past

and my reliance on his fracted
dates have smit my credit.

I love and honor him,

but must not break my
back to heal his finger.

Immediate are my needs,

and my relief must not be tossed
and turned to me in words,

but find supply immediate.

Get you gone.

Put on a most importunate aspect,

a visage of demand, for, I do fear,

when every feather sticks in his own wing,

lord Timon will be left a naked gull,

Which flashes now a phoenix.

Get you gone.

I go, sir.

Take the bonds along with you.

I will, sir.

Have the dates in contempt, go.

No care, no stop!

so senseless of expense,

That he will neither
know how to maintain it,

nor cease his flow of riot.

Takes no account how things go from him,

nor resumes no care of
what is to continue,

never mind was to be so
unwise, to be so kind.

What shall be done?

He will not hear, till feel.

I must be round with him,
now he comes from hunting.

Fie, fie, fie!

Good evening.

What, you come for money?

Is it not your business too?

It is, and yours?

It is.

Would we were all discharged.

I fear it.

Here comes the lord.

So soon as dinner's done,

we'll forth again, my Alcibiades.

With me?

What is your will?

My lord, here is a note of certain dues.

Dues?

Whence are you?

Of Athens, here, my lord.

Go to my steward.

Please it your lordship,

he has put me out to the
succession of new days this month.

My master is awaked by great occasion

to call upon his own,

and humbly prays you that
with your other noble parts

you'll suit in giving him his right.

Mine honest friend, I prithee,

but repair to me next morning.

Nay good, my lord!

Contain thyself, good friend!

One Varro's servant, my good lord.

From Isidore, he humbly
prays your speedy payment.

If you did know, my
lord, my master's wants.

'Twas due on forfeiture, my
lord, six weeks And past.

You give me breath!

My lords, I beseech you, keep on.

I'll wait upon you instantly.

Come hither, I pray you.

I beseech you, how goes the world,

that I am thus encountered

with clamorous demands of debt,

broken bonds, and the detention
of long since due debts

against mine honor?

Please you, gentlemen,

the time is unagreeable to this business.

Your importunacy cease till after dinner,

That I may make his lordship understand

wherefore you are not paid.

Do so my friends.

Pray you walk near, I speak with you anon.

You make me marvel,

wherefore ere this time,

you've not fully laid my stake before me?

That I might so rate at my expense,

as I had leave of means?

You would not hear me, at
many leisures I proposed.

Go to!

Perchance some single vantages you took,

when my indisposition put you back,

and that unaptness

made you minister thus to excuse yourself.

Oh, my good lord,

At many times I brought in my accounts,

laid them before you,

you would throw them off,

and say, you found them in mine honesty.

When, for some trifling present,

you have bid me return so much,

I have shook my head and wept.

Yea, against the authority
of manners, prayed you

to hold your hand more close.

I did endure not seldom,

nor no slight cheques,

when I have prompted you
in the ebb of your estate

and your great flow of debts.

My loved lord, though
you hear now, too late,

yet now's a time.

The greatest of your having lacks a half

to pay your present debts.

Let all my lands be sold.

'Tis all engaged,

some forfeited and gone.

And what remains would hardly stop

the mouth of present dues.

The future comes apace,

what shall defend the interim?

And at length how goes our reckoning?

To Lacedaemon did my land extend.

My good lord, the world is but a word,

were it all yours to give it in a breath,

how quickly were it gone!

You tell me true?

If you suspect my husbandry or falsehood,

call me before the exactest auditors

and set me on the proof.

So the gods bless me,

when all our offices have been oppressed

with riotous feeders,

when our vaults have wept

with drunken spilth of wine,

when every room was blazed with lights

and brayed with minstrelsy,

I have retired me to a wasteful cock,

and set mine eyes at flow.

Prithee, no more.

Heavens, have I said,
the bounty of this lord!

How many prodigal bits
have slaves and peasants

this night englutted!

Who is not Timon's?

What heart, head, sword, force,
means, but is lord Timon's?

Great Timon, noble, worthy, royal Timon!

When the means are gone
that buy this praise,

the breath is gone whereof
this praise is made.

Feast-won, fast-lost, one
cloud of winter showers,

these flies are couched.

Come, sermon me no further.

No villainous bounty yet
hath passed my heart.

Unwisely, not ignobly, have I given.

Why dost thou weep?

Canst thou the conscience lack,

to think I shall lack friends?

Secure thy heart.

If I would broach the vessels of my love,

and try the arguments
of hearts by borrowing,

men and men's fortunes could I frankly use

as I can bid thee speak.

Assurance bless your thoughts.

And, in some sort, these
wants of mine are crowned,

that I account them blessings.

For by these shall I try friends.

You shall see how you

mistake my fortunes.

I am wealthy in my friends.

Within there, lord Flaminius.

[Flaminius] My lord.

Servilius.

[Servilius] My lord.

Servilious, I will dispatch you severally.

To Lord Lucius, you.

To Lord Lucullus you.

I hunted with his honor today.

To Sempronius, you,

commend me to their loves,

and, I am proud, say,
that my occasions have

found time to use 'em
toward a supply of money.

Let the request be 50 talents?

As you have said my lord.

Lord Lucius and Lucullus?

And go you sir, to the senators,

of whom even to the state's best health

I've deserved this hearing.

Bid 'em send of the instant,
a thousand talents, to me.

I have been bold,

for that I knew it's the
most general way to them

to use your signet and your name,

but they do shake their heads

and I am here no richer in return.

Is it true?

Can it be?

They answer, in a joint
and corporate voice,

that now they are at fall,

want treasure, cannot do what they would,

are sorry, you are honorable,

but yet they could have wished,

they know not, something hath been amiss,

a noble nature may catch a wrench,

would all were well, 'tis pity.

And so, intending other serious matters,

after distasteful looks
at these hard fractions,

with certain half-caps
and cold-moving nods

They froze me into silence.

You gods, reward them!

Prithee, man, look cheerly.

These old fellows have their
ingratitude in them hereditary.

Their blood is caked, it's
cold, it seldom flows.

'Tis lack of kindly
warmth they are not kind,

and nature, as it grows
again toward earth,

is fashioned for the
journey, dull and heavy.

Go to Ventidious.

Prithee, be not sad, ingeniously I speak.

No blame belongs to thee.

Ventidious lately buried his father,

by whose death he stepped
into a great estate.

When he was poor,

imprisoned and in scarcity of friends,

I cleared him with five talents.

Greet him from me.

Bid him suppose some good
necessity touches his friend,

which craves to be remembered

with those five talents.

That had, give it these fellows

to whom 'tis instant due.

Ne'er speak, or think,

that Timon's fortunes
amongst his friends can sink.

I would I could not think it.

That thought is bounty's foe.

Being free itself, it
thinks all others so.

Flaminius.

Honest Flaminius, you are
very respectively welcome sir.

And how does that honorable,

complete free-hearted gentleman of Athens,

thy very bountiful good lord, and master.

His health is well, sir.

I am right glad that
his health is well, sir,

and what hast thou there under
thy cloak, pretty Flaminius?

Faith, nothing but an empty box sir,

which in my lord's behalf

I come to entreat your honor to supply.

Who, having great and instant occasion

to use 50 talents, hath sent
your lordship to furnish him.

Nothing doubting your
present assistance, therein.

La.

La la la.

Nothing doubting says he?

Alas, good lord!

A noble gentleman 'tis,

if he would not keep so good a house.

Many a time and often
I have dined with him,

and told him on't,

and come again to supper to him,

of purpose to have him spend less,

and yet he would embrace no counsel,

take no warning by my coming.

Every man has his fault,
and honesty is his,

I have told him on't, but I
could ne'er get him from it.

Flaminius, I have noted thee always wise.

Your lordship speaks your pleasure.

I have observed thee always,

for a towardly prompt spirit

give thee thy due

and one that knows what

belongs to reason,

and canst use the time well,

if the time use thee
well, good parts in thee.

Draw nearer, honest Flaminius.

Thy lord's a bountiful gentleman,

but thou art wise,

and thou knowest well enough,
although thou comes to me,

that this is no time to lend money,

especially upon bare
friendship, without security.

Here's three solidares for thee.

Good boy, wink at me, and
say thou sawest me not.

Fare thee well.

Is't possible the world
should so much differ,

and we alive that lived?

Fly, damned baseness, to
him that worships thee!

Now I see, thou art a fool
and fit for thy master!

May these add to the
number that may scald thee!

Let molten coin be thy damnation,

thou disease of a friend, and not himself!

Has friendship such a
faint and milky heart,

it turns in less than two nights?

Oh you gods, I feel master's passion!

This slave, unto his honor,

has my lord's meat in him.

Why should it thrive
and turn to nutriment,

when he is turned to poison?

May diseases only work upon it!

And, when he's sick to death,

let not that part of nature
Which my lord paid for,

be of any power to expel
sickness, but prolong his hour!

Servilius.

You are kindly met sir,

commend commend me to thy
honorable virtuous lord,

my very exquisite friend.

May it please your honor,
my lord hath sent me.

What has he sent?

I am so much endeared to that lord,

he's ever sending.

How shall I thank him, thinkest thou?

And what has he sent now?

Has only sent his present
occasion now, my lord.

Requesting your lordship
to supply his instant use

with so many talents.

I know.

His lordship is but merry with me.

He cannot want 5500 talents?

But in the meantime he
wants less, my lord.

If his occasion were not virtuous,

I should not urge it half so faithfully.

Does thy speak seriously Servilious?

Upon my soul, it is true sir.

What a wicked beast was I

to dis-furnish myself
against such a good time,

when I might have shown myself honorable!

How unluckily it happened,

that I should purchase the
day before for a little part,

and undo a great deal of honor.

Servilius, now, before the gods,

I am not able to do,

the more beast, I say.

I was sending to use Lord Timon myself,

But I would not,

for the wealth of Athens,
I had done it now.

Commend me bountifully
to his good lordship,

and I hope his honor will
conceive the fairest of me

because I have no power to be kind.

[coins clatter]

And tell him this from me,

I count it one of my
greatest afflictions, say,

that I cannot pleasure such
an honorable gentleman.

Good Servilius, will
you befriend me so far,

as to use mine own words to him?

Yes sir, I shall.

I'll look you out a good turn.

Servilius.

Must he needs trouble me in 't?

'Bove all others?

He might have tried
Lord Lucius or Lucullus,

and now Ventidius is wealthy too,

whom he redeemed from prison.

All these owe their estates unto him.

My lord, they've all been touched

and found base metal,

for they have all denied him.

Have they denied him?

Have Ventidius and Lucullus denied him?

And does he send to me?

Three?

It shows but little
love or judgment in him.

Must I be his last refuge.

His friends, like physicians,
thrice give him over.

Must I take the cure upon me?

Has much disgraced me in't.

I'm angry at him, that
might have known my place.

I see no sense for't,

but his occasions might
have wooed me first,

for, in my conscience, I was the first man

that e'er received gift from him.

And does he think so backwardly of me now,

that I'll requite it last?

No.

So it may prove an argument
of laughter to the rest,

and I amongst lords I be thought a fool.

I'd rather than the
worth of thrice the sum,

had sent to me first,
but for my mind's sake.

I'd such a courage to do him good.

But now return,

and with their faint
reply this answer join.

Who bates mine honor
shall not know my coin.

One of lord Timon's men.

Flaminius.

Sir.

A word, pray, is my lord
ready to come forth?

No, indeed he is not.

We attend his lordship,
pray signify so much.

I need not tell him that, he
knows you are too diligent.

Is not that his steward muffled so?

He goes away in a cloud, call him.

Ho, do you hear sir?

By your leave, sir.

What do you ask of me, my friend.

We wait for certain money here, sir.

Aye, if money were as
certain as your waiting,

it were sure enough.

Why then preferred you
not your sums and bills,

when your false masters
eat of my lord's meat?

Then they could smile
and fawn upon his debts

and take down the interest
into their gluttonous maws.

You do yourselves but wrong to stir me up.

Let me pass quietly.

Believe it, my lord
and I have made an end.

I have no more to reckon, he to spend.

Aye, but this answer will not serve.

If 'twill not serve,
'tis not so base as you,

for you serve knaves.

What does his cashiered worship mutter?

No matter what, he's poor,
and that's revenge enough.

Here comes Servilius, now
we shall know some answer.

If I might beseech you gentlemen,

to repair some other hour,

I should derive much from it.

For take it of my soul,

my lord leans wondrously to discontent,

his comfortable temper has forsook him,

he's much out of health,
and keeps his chamber.

Many who keep their chambers are not sick.

And, if it be so far beyond his health,

methinks he should the
sooner pay his debts,

and make a clear way to the gods.

We cannot take this for answer, sir.

What, are my doors opposed
against my passage?

Have I been ever free, and must my house

now be my retentive enemy, my jail?

The place which I have
feasted, does it now,

like all mankind, show me an iron heart?

My lord, here's my bill!

-Here's mine!
-Here's mine, my lord.

Knock me down with 'em,

cleave me to the girdle!

Alas, my lord.

Cut my heart in sums!

Mine, 50 talents.

Tell out my blood!

Five thousand crowns, my lord.

Five thousand drops
pays that, what's yours?

50 talents, My lord.

Alas my lord.

Tear me, take me, and
the gods fall upon you!

They've e'en put my breath
from me, the slaves.

Creditors.

Devils.

My dear lord.

What if it should be so?

My lord.

I'll have it so.

My stewerd.

Here, my lord.

So fitly.

Go.

Bid all my friends again.

Lucious, Lucullus, and Sempronius.

All.

I'll once more feast the rascals.

My lord, You only speak
from your distracted soul,

there is not so much left, to
furnish out a moderate table.

Be it not in thy care?

Go, I charge thee, invite them all.

Let in the tide of knaves once more.

My cook and I will provide.

My lord, you have my voice to it.

The thought's bloody,

it is necessary he should die.

Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy.

Most true.

The lord shall bruise him.

Honor.

Health.

And compassion for the senate.

Now captain.

I am an humble suitor to your virtues.

For pity is the virtue of the law,

and none but tyrants use it cruelly.

It pleases time and fortune to lie heavy

upon a friend of mine, who, in hot blood,

hath stepped into the law,

which is past depth to
those that, without heed,

do plunge into it.

He is a man, setting his
fate aside of comely virtues.

Nor did he soil the fact with cowardice,

an honor in him which buys out his fault,

but with a noble fury and fair spirit,

seeing his reputation touched to death,

he did oppose his foe.

And with such sober and un-noted passion

he did behoove his anger, ere 'twas spent,

as if he had but proved an argument.

You undergo too strict a paradox.

Striving to make an ugly deed look fair.

Your words have took such pains

as if they labored to bring
manslaughter into form

and set quarreling upon the head of valor,

which indeed is valor misbegot

and came into the world when sects

and factions were newly born.

He's truly valiant that can wisely suffer

the worst that man can breathe,

and make his wrongs his outsides,

to wear them like his raiment, carelessly,

and ne'er prefer his
injuries to his heart's,

to bring it into danger.

If wrongs be evils and enforce us kill,

what folly 'tis to hazard life for ill.

[Alcibiades] My lord.

[Senator] You cannot make
gross sins look clear.

My lord.

To revenge is no valor, but to bear.

My lords, then, under favor, pardon me,

if I speak like a captain.

Why do fond men expose
themselves to battle,

and not endure all threats?

Sleep upon it, and let the foes

quietly cut their throats,
without repugnancey?

If there be such valor in the bearing,

what make we abroad?

Why then, women are more valiant

that stay at home, if bearing carry it,

and the ass more captain than the lion,

the fellow loaden with
irons wiser than the judge,

if wisdom be in suffering.

Oh my lords,

as you are great, be pitifully good.

Who cannot condemn rashness in cold blood?

To kill, I grant, is sin's extremest gust.

But, in defense, by
mercy, it is most just.

To be in anger is impiety.

But who is man who is not angry?

Weigh but the crime with this.

You breathe in vain.

In vain?

His service done at
Lacedaemon and Byzantium

were a sufficient briber for his life.

What's that?

Why I say, my lords, he
has done fair service,

And slain in fight many of your enemies.

How full of valor did he bear himself

in the last conflict, and
made plenteous wounds!

He has made too much plenty with 'em.

He's a sworn rioter.

He has a sin that often drowns him,

and takes his valor prisoner.

If there were no foes,

that were enough to overcome him.

And in the beastly fury

he has been known to commit outrages,

and cherish factions.

It is inferred to us

that his days are foul
and his drink dangerous.

He dies.

Hard fate.

He might have died in war.

My lords, if not for any parts in him,

though his right arm might
purchase his own time

and be in debt to none,

yet, more to move you.

Take my deserts to his, and join 'em bot

and, for I know your
reverend ages love security,

I'll pawn my victories,
all my honors to you,

upon his good returns.

If by this crime he owes the law his life,

why, let the war receive
it in valiant gore.

For law is strict, and
war is nothing more.

We are for law.

He dies.

Urge it no more on height
of our displeasure,

friend or brother, he
forfeits his own blood

that spills another.

Must it be so?

It must not be.

My lords I do beseech you, know me.

How?

Call me to your remembrances!

What?

I cannot think but that
your age has forgot me.

It could not else be,
I should prove so base,

to sue, and be denied such common grace.

My wounds ache at you.

Do you dare our anger?

'Tis in few words, but spacious in effect,

we banish thee forever.

Banish me?

Banish your dotage.

Banish usury that makes the senate ugly.

If after two days shine,
Athens contain thee,

attend our weightier judgment,

and not to swell our spirit,
he shall be executed presently.

Now the gods keep you old enough

that you may live only in bone,

that none may look on you.

I'm worse than mad.

I have kept back their foes,

while they have told their money

and let out their coin
upon large interest,

I myself rich only in large hurts.

All those.

For this?

Is this the balsam that the usuring senate

pours into captains' wounds?

Banishment.

It comes not ill.

I hate not to be banished.

It is a cause worthy my spleen and fury,

that I may strike at Athens.

I'll cheer up my discontented
troops, and lay for hearts.

It is honor with most lands to be at odds.

Soldiers should brook as
little wrongs as gods.

The good time of day to you, sir.

I also wish it to you.

I think this honorable lord
did betray us this other day.

Upon that were my thoughts

tiring, when we encountered.

I hope it is not so low with him

as he made it seem in the
trial of his several friends.

It should not be, by the
persuasion of his new feasting.

I should think so.

He hath sent me an earnest inviting,

which many my near occasions
did urge me to put off.

But he hath conjured me beyond them

and I must needs appear.

In a like manner was I in debt

to my importunate business,

but he would not hear my excuse.

I am sorry, when he sent to borrow of me,

that my provision was out.

I am sick of that grief too,

as I understand how all things go.

Every man here's, so.

What would he have borrowed of you?

A thousand pieces.

A thousand pieces.

What of you?

He sent to me sir.

Here he comes.

With all my heart, gentlemen, both.

How fare you?

Ever at the best hearing
well of your lordship.

The swallow follows not summer

more willing than we your lordship.

Nor more willingly leaves winter,

such summer-birds are men.

Our dinner will not
recompense this long stay.

Feast your ears with the music awhile,

if they will fare so harshly
of the trumpet's sound.

We shall to it presently.

[trumpet music]

I hope it remains not
unkindly with your lordship

that I returned you an empty messenger.

Oh sir, let it not trouble you.

My noble lord.

My good friend, what cheer?

My most honorable lord,

I am e'en sick of shame,

that when your lordship
this other day sent to me,

I was so unfortunate a beggar.

Think not on it.

If you had sent but two hours before.

Let it not cumber your better remembrance.

Come, bring in all together.

All covered dishes.

Royal cheer, I warrant you.

I doubt not that.

If money and the season can yield it.

How do you, what's the news?

Alcibiades is banished.

Hear you of it?

Alcibiades banished.

'Tis so, be sure of it.

How?

How?

I pray you, upon what?

[Timon] My worthy friends,
will you draw near?

I'll tell you more anon,

here's a noble feast to all.

This is the old man still.

Will do, will do.

It does, but time will, and so.

I do conceive.

Each man to his stool,

with that spur as he would
to the lip of his mistress,

your diet shall be in all places alike.

Make not a city feast of it,

to let the meat cool ere we
can agree upon the first place.

Sit.

Sit.

The gods require our thanks.

You great benefactors,

sprinkle our society with thankfulness.

For your own gifts,

let yourselves be praised.

But reserve still to give,

lest your deities be despised.

Lend to each man enough, that
one need not lend to another

for, were your godheads to borrow of men,

men would forsake the gods.

Make the meat be beloved more
than the man that gives it.

Let no assembly of twenty be
without a score of villains.

If there sit twelve women at the table,

let the dozen of them be as they are.

The rest of your fees, you gods

the senators of Athens,

together with the common leg of people

what is amiss in them,

you gods, make suitable for destruction.

For these my present friends,

as they are to me nothing,
so in nothing bless them,

and to nothing are they welcome.

Uncover, dogs, and lap.

What does his lordship mean?

I know not.

May you a better feast never behold,

you knot of mouth-friends.

Smoke and lukewarm water
is your perfection.

This is Timon's last,

who, stuck and spangled
with your flatteries,

washes it off, and sprinkles in your faces

your reeking villainy.

[attendees laugh]

Live loathed and long,

most smiling, smooth, detested parasites.

Courteous destroyers,

affable wolves.

Meek bears.

You fools of fortune,

you trencher-friends.

Cap and knee slaves,

vapors, and minute-jacks

Of man and beast the infinite malady.

Crust you quite o'er.

What, why dost thou go?

All in motion shall take thy physic first,

thou too, and thou.

Stay, I'll lend thee money, borrow none,

henceforth be no feast

whereat a villain's not a welcome guest.

Burn house!

Sink, ovens!

Henceforth, hated, be of Timon,

man and all humanity.

Matrons turn incontinent,

obedience failing children,

slaves of fools.

Park the grave-wrinkled
senate from the bench,

minister in their steads,

the general filth's confer to
the instant green virginity.

Do it in your parent's eyes.

Bankrupts, hold fast,

rather than render back,

out with your knives,

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 of the brothel!

Son of 16, pluck the lined
crutch from thy old limping sire,

with it beat out his brains!

[pots bang]

Piety, and fear, religion to the gods,

peace, justice, truth,

domestic awe, night-rest, neighborhood.

Instruction, manners, mysteries, trades,

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 into

the minds and marrows of our youth,

that against the stream
of virtue they may strive,

and drown themselves in riot!

Itches, blains.

Sow all the Athenian bosoms,

and their crop be general leprosy!

Breath infect breath,

that their society, as their friendship,

may be merely poison!

Nothing I'll bear from ye,

but nakedness, thou detestable town.

Take thou that too, with multiplying bans.

The gods confound, hear
me, you good gods all.

The Athenians both
within and out that wall.

And grant, as Timon
grows, his hate may grow.

The whole race of mankind, high and low!

Amen.

Hear you.

Master Steward?

Where is our master?

Are we undone?

Cast off, nothing remaining?

Alack, my fellows.

What should I say to you?

Let me be recorded by the righteous gods,

I am as poor as you.

Such a house broke?

So noble a master, fallen?

All gone and not one friend

to take his fortune by the
arm and go along with him?

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.

More of our fellows.

All broken implements of a ruined house.

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 bark,

and we, poor mates,
stand on the dying deck,

hearing the surges threat.

We must all part into this sea of air.

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.

Let each take some,

nay, put out all your hands.

Not one word more.

Thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poor.

[coins clink]

Oh, 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 ungrateful seat
of monstrous friends,

nor has he with him to supply his life,

or that which can command it.

I'll follow and inquire him out.

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

Whilst I have gold, I'll
be his steward still.

[Furniture clatters]

[Thunder claps]

Blessed breeding sun,

draw from the earth rotten humidity.

Below thy sister's orb

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.

Raise me this beggar, deny it that lord.

The senator shall bear
contempt hereditary.

The beggar native honor.

It is the pasture lards
the brother's side,

that want that makes him lean.

Who dares?

Who dares, in purity and
manhood stand upright,

and say this man's a flatterer?

If one be, so are they all.

For every grise of fortune

is smoothed by that below.

The learned pate ducks to the
golden fool, all is oblique.

There's nothing level
in our cursed natures,

but direct villainy.

Therefore, be abhorred,

all feasts, societies, throngs of men!

His semblable.

Yea, himself.

Timon disdains.

Destruction fang mankind!

Earth.

Yield me roots.

Who seeks for better of
thee, sauce his palatte

with thy most operant poison!

[stones and coins rustle]

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.

Please, you gods, what this?

Why?

This will lug your priests
and servants from your sides,

Pluck pillows from
beneath stout men's heads.

This yellow slave,

will knit and break
religions, bless the accursed,

make the hoar leprosy adored,

place thieves and give them
title, knee and approbation

with senators on the bench.

Why.

This is it that makes the
wappened widow wed again.

She, whom the spital-house
and ulcerous sores

would cast the gorge at,
this, embalms and spices

to the April day again.

Come, damned earth.

Thou common whore of mankind,

that puts odds among the route of nations,

I'll make thee do thy right nature.

[drum pounds]

A drum?

That quick, but yet I'll bury thee.

Thou'll go strong, thief.

When gouty keepers of thee cannot stand.

Nay, stay thou out for earnest.

What art thou there?

Speak.

A beast, as thou art!

The canker gnaw thy heart,

for showing me again the eyes of man.

What is thy name?

Is man so hateful to thee
that art thyself a man?

I am Misanthropos.

And hate mankind.

For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog,

that I might love thee something.

I know thee well.

But in thy fortunes am
unlearned and strange.

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, jewels, jewels.

Religious canons, civil laws are cruel.

What should war be?

This fell whore of thine

hath in her more
destruction than thy sword,

for all her cherubim look.

Thy lips rot off.

I'll not kiss thee,

then the rot returns to
thine own lips again.

How came the noble Timon to this change?

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.

Noble Timon, what
friendship may I do thee?

None, but to maintain my opinion.

What is it, Timon?

Promise me friendship, but perform none.

If thou wilt not promise,
the gods plague thee,

for thou art a man.

If thou dost perform, confound
thee, for thou art a man!

I have heard in some sort of thy miseries.

Thou sawest them when I had prosperity.

I see them now.

Then was a blessed time.

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

Is this the Athenian minion

the world has voiced so regardfully?

Art thou Timandra?

Yes.

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 diet.

Hang thee, monster.

Pardon him, sweet Timandra,

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 neighbor states,

but for thy sword and
fortune, trod upon them.

I prithee, beat thy
drum and get thee gone.

I am thy friend, and
pity thee, dear Timon.

How dost thou pity him
whom thou dost trouble?

I had rather be alone.

Well, fare thee well.

Here is some gold for thee.

Keep it, I cannot eat it.

When I have laid proud Athens on a heap.

Warrest thou against Athens?

Aye Timon, and have cause.

The gods confound them
all in thy conquest.

And thee after, when thou hast conquered!

Why me Timon?

That, by killing of villains,

Thou wast born to conquer my country.

Put up thy 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 honored 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.

Least, 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,

and you swear against objects.

Put armor 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.

Hast thou gold yet?

I'll take the gold thou gives me,

but not all thy council.

Dost thou, or dost thou not,
heaven's curse upon thee!

Give us some gold good
Timon, hast thou more?

Enough to make a whore forswear her trade.

And to make whores, a bawd.

Hold up, you sluts,

your aprons mountant.

You are not oathable,

although, I know, you
'll swear, terribly swear

into strong shudders and to heavenly agues

the 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 pains, six months,

be quite contrary.

And thatch your poor thin roofs

with burthens 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!

Well, more gold?

What then?

Believe it that we'll
do anything for gold.

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 flayman,

who scolds against the quality of flesh,

yet 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!

More counsel with more
money, bounteous Timon?

More gold, more mischief first.

I've given you earnest!

[Alcibiades] Strike up
the drum towards Athens.

Farewell, Timon.

If I thrive well, I'll visit thee again.

If I hope well, I'll never see thee more.

[Alcibiades] I never did thee harm.

Yes, thou spokest well of me.

[Alcibiades] Call'st thou that harm?

Men daily find it.

Get thee down, and take
thy beagles with thee.

[Alcibiades] We but offend him.

Strike!

[war drums]

That nature, being sick
of man's unkindness,

should yet be hungry!

Common mother.

Thou, whose womb unmeasurable,
and infinite breast,

teems, and feeds all.

Whereof thy proud child,
arrogant man, is puffed,

engenders the black toad and adder blue,

the gilded newt and eyeless venomed worm,

with all the abhorred
births below crisp heaven

whereon Hyperion's
quickening fire doth shine.

Yield him, who all the human sons do hate,

from forth thy plenteous
bosom, one poor root!

Ensear thy fertile and conceptuous womb,

let it no more bring out ingrateful man!

Go great with tigers.

Dragons.

Wolves.

Bears.

Teem with new monsters,

whom thy upward face
to the marbled mansion

all above hath never presented!

A root.

Dear thanks.

Dry out thy marrows,

thou vines, and plough-torn leas.

Whereof ingrateful man,
with liquorish droughts

and morsels unctuous,
greases his pure mind,

that from it all consideration slips!

More man?

Plague, plague!

I was directed hither.

Men report thou dost affect my manners

and dost use them.

'Tis only because thou dost not keep a dog

whom I would imitate.

Consumption catch thee.

This is in thee a nature but infected.

A poor unmanly melancholy

sprung from change of fortune.

Why this spade?

This place?

This slave-like habit
and these looks of care?

Thy flatterers yet wear
silk, drink wine, lie soft,

hug their diseased perfumes,

and have forgot that ever Timon was.

No!

Shame not this place,

by putting on the cunning of a carper.

Be thou a flatterer now,

and seek to thrive by that
which hast undone thee.

Hinge thy knee, and let his very breath,

whom thou'lst observe, blow off thy cap.

Praise his most vicious strain,

and call it excellent.

Thou wast told thus.

Thou gavest thine ears like tapsters

that bid welcome to knaves

and all approachers.

'Tis most just that thou turn rascal,

hadst thou wealth again,

rascals should have it.

Do not assume my likeness.

Were I like thee, I'd throw away myself.

Thou hast cast away
thyself, being like thyself.

A madman so long, now a fool.

What, think'st that the bleak air,

thy boisterous chamberlain,

will put thy shirt on warm?

Will these moist trees,

that have outlived the eagle,

page thy heels,

and skip where thou point'st out?

Will the cold brook,

candied with ice, caudle
thy morning taste,

to cure thy o'er-night's surfeit?

Call the creatures
whose naked natures live

in all the spite of wreakful heaven,

whose bare unhoused trunks,

to the conflicting elements exposed,

answer mere nature.

Bid them flatter thee.

Oh thou shalt find.

A fool of thee.

Depart.

I love thee better now than e'er I did.

I hate thee worse.

Why?

Thou flatterest misery.

I flatter not, but say thou art a caitiff.

Why dost thou seek me out?

To vex thee.

Always a villain's office or a fool's.

Dost please thyself in't?

Aye.

What, a knave too?

If thou didst put this sour-cold habit on

to castigate thy pride, 'twere well.

But thou dost it enforcedly.

Thou'ldst courtier be again,

wert thou not beggar.

Willing misery outlives in
certain pomp, is crown'd before.

The one is filling still, never complete,

the other, at high wish.

Best state, contentless,

hath a distracted and most wretched being,

worse than the worst, content.

Thou shouldst desire to
die, being miserable.

Not by his breath that is more miserable.

Thou art a slave,

whom fortune's tender arm

With favor never clasped, but bred a dog.

Hadst thou, like us from our first swath,

proceeded the sweet degrees
that this brief world affords

to such as may the passive drudges of it

freely command, thou
wouldst have drowned thyself

in general riot.

Melted down thy youth

in different beds of lust,

and never learned the
icy precepts of respect,

but followed the sugared game before thee.

But myself, who had the
world as my confectionary,

the eyes, the tongues, the
hearts, the mouths of men

at duty, more than I
could frame employment.

These, that numberless upon me stuck

as leaves do on the oak,
with with one winter's brush

fell from their boughs and left me open,

bare to every storm that blows,

I, to bear this, that
never knew but better,

is some burden,

thy nature did commence in sufferance,

time hath made thee hard in't.

Why shouldst thou hate men?

They never flattered thee,

what hast thou given?

If thou wilt curse, thy
father, that poor rag,

must be thy subject,

who in spite put stuff to some she beggar

and compounded thee,

poor rogue hereditary.

Hence, be gone!

If thou hadst not been
born the worst of men,

Thou hadst been a knave and flatterer.

Art thou proud, yet?

Aye, that I am not thee.

Aye, that I was no prodigal.

Well aye that I am one now.

Were all the wealth I
have shut up in thee,

I'd give thee leave to hang it.

Get thee gone.

That the whole world
of Athens were in this!

Thus would I eat it.

Here I will mend thy feast.

Purge me thy company, take away thyself.

So shall I mend mine own
by the lack of thine.

'Tis not well mended,
so it is but botched.

If it were not, I would it were.

What wouldst thou have to Athens?

Thee thither in a whirlwind.

If thou wilt, tell them there I have gold.

Look.

So I have.

Here is no use for gold.

The best and truest.

For here it sleeps,

and does no hired harm.

Where liest at nights, Timon?

Under that's above me.

Where feed'st thou of days, Apemantus?

Where my stomach finds meat,

or rather where I eat it.

Would poison were
obedient and knew my mind!

Where wouldst thou send it?

To sauce thy dishes.

The middle of humanity thou never knewest,

but the extremity of both ends.

When thou wast in thy
gilt and thy perfume,

they mocked thee for too much curiosity.

In thy rags thou knowest none,

but art despised for the contrary.

There's a medlar for thee, eat it.

On what I hate I feed not.

Dost hate a medlar?

Aye, even thou it look like thee.

Hadst thou hated meddlers sooner,

thou shouldst have loved
thyself better now.

What man didst thou ever know un-thrift

that was beloved after his means?

Who without those means thou speakst of,

didst ever know beloved?

Myself.

I understand thee.

Thou hadst some means to keep a dog.

What things in the world

canst thou nearest
compare to thy flatterers?

Women nearest.

But men, men are the things themselves.

What wouldst thou do with
the world, Apemantus,

if it lay in your power?

Give it the beasts to be rid of the men.

Wouldst thou have thyself
fall in the confusion of men,

and live a beast with the beasts?

Aye, Timon.

A beastly ambition, which the gods

grant thee to attain to.

If wert thou the lion, the
fox would beguile thee.

Wert thou the lamb, the fox would thee up.

Wert thou the fox,

the lion would suspect thee,

when peradventure thou
wert accused by the ass.

Wert thou the ass, thy
dullness would torment thee,

and still thou livedst but
as a breakfast to the wolf.

Wert thou the wolf, thy
greediness should afflict thee,

and oft thou shouldst hazard
thy life for thy dinner

But wert thou the unicorn,

pride and wrath would confound thee

and make thine own self
the conquest of thy fury.

Wert thou a bear, thou'd
be killed by a horse.

Wert thou a horse,

thou'd be seized by a leopard.

Wert thou a leopard,

thou wert german to the lion

and all the spots of thy kindred

were jurors on thy life.

All thy safety were emotion

and thy defense absence.

What a beast couldst thou be,

that were not subject to a beast?

And what a beast art thou already,

that seest not thy loss in transformation!

If thou couldst please
me with speaking to me,

thou mightst have hit upon it here.

The commonwealth of Athens
is become a forest of beasts.

How has the ass broke the wall,

that thou art out of the city?

Yonder comes a poet and a painter.

The plague of company light upon thee!

I will fear to catch it and give way.

When I know not what else to do,

I'll see thee again.

When there's nought else living but thee,

thou shalt be welcome.

I'd rather be a beggar's
dog than Apemantus.

Though art the cap of all the fools alive.

Would that though were
clean enough to spit upon.

A plague upon thee, thou
art too bad to curse.

All villains that do
stand by thee are pure.

There is no leprosy
but what thou speak'st.

If I name thee.

I'd beat thee, but I
should infect my hands.

I would my tongue could rot them off!

Away, thou issue of a mangy dog!

Choler does kill me that
thou art still alive

I swoon to see thee.

Wouldst thou would burst.

Away thou tedious rogue!

I'm sorry I shall lose a stone by thee.

Beast!

Slave!

Toad!

Rogue!

Rogue!

Rogue!

I'm sick of this false world!

And will love nought but even
the mere necessities upon it.

Then, Timon, presently prepare thy grave.

Lie where the light foam the sea

may beat thy grave-stone daily,

make thine epitaph, that death in me

at others' lives may laugh.

Thou sweet king-killer,

thou dear divorce 'twixt
natural son and sire!

Thou bright defiler of Hymen's purest bed!

Thou valiant Mars!

Thou ever young, fresh,
loved and delicate wooer,

whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow

that lies on Dian's lap!

Thou visible god,

that solder'st close impossibilities,

and makest them kiss.

Thou touch of hearts.

Think, thy slave man rebels,

and by thy virtue set them
into confounding odds,

that beasts may have the world in empire!

Would 'twere so.

But not till I am dead.

I'll say thou hast gold,

thou wilt be thronged to shortly.

Thy back, I prithee.

Live and love thy misery.

Long live so and so die.

I am quit.

More things like men!

Eat, Timon.

And abhor them.

Where should he have this gold?

It is some poor fragment,

some slender sort of his remainder

the mere want of gold,

and the falling-from of his friends,

drove him into this melancholy.

It is noised he hath a mass of treasure.

Let us make the assay upon him

if he care not for it,
he will supply us easily.

If he covetously reserve
it, how shall us get it?

True, for he bears it not about him.

It's hid.

Is not that he?

Where?

It is his description.

What, he?

I know him.

Save thee, Timon.

Thieves.

Soldiers, not thieves.

Both, too, and women sends.

Oh, we are not thieves, sir.

We are men that much do want.

Your greatest want is, you want much meat.

Why should you want?

Behold, the earth hath roots.

Within this mile break
forth a hundred springs.

The oaks bear mast, the
briers scarlet hips.

The bounteous housewife, nature,

on each bush lays her
full mess before you.

Want?

Why want?

We cannot live on grass, berries,

water as beasts, birds and fishes.

Nor on the beasts themselves,
the birds, and fishes.

You must eat men.

Yet thanks I must you con that
you are thieves professed,

that you work not in holier shapes,

for there is boundless theft
in limited professions.

Rascal thieves.

Here's gold.

Go on, suck the subtle blood of the grape,

till the high fever seethe
your blood to froth,

and so escape hanging.

But trust not the physician.

His antidotes are poison,

and he slays more than you rob.

Take wealth and lives together.

Do villainy, do, since you protest

to do it, like workmen.

I'll example you with thievery.

The sun's a thief, and
with his great attraction

robs the vast sea.

The moon's an arrant thief,

whose pale fires snatch from the sun.

The sea's a thief,

whose liquid surge resolves
the moon into salt tears.

The earth's a thief,

That feeds and breeds from
the compostures stolen

from general excrement.

Each thing's a thief.

The laws, your curb and whip,

in their rough power

has unchecked theft.

Love not yourselves.

Rob one another.

There's more gold.

Cut throats.

All you meet are thieves.

To Athens go,

break open shops,

nothing can you steal,

but thieves do lose it,

steal not less for this I give you,

and gold confound you howsoe'er!

Amen.

He's almost charmed me from my profession,

by persuading me to it.

'Tis in the malice of mankind
that he thus advises us,

not to have us thrive in our mystery.

Lie believe him as an enemy,
and give over my trust.

Let us first see peace in Athens.

There is no time so miserable
but a man may be true.

True.

[gravel crunches]

Oh you gods.

Is yond despised and ruinous man my lord?

Full of decay and failing?

Oh monument and wonder of
good deeds evilly disposed.

What an alteration of honor
has desperate want made.

What viler thing upon
the earth than friends

that can bring noblest
minds to basest ends.

How rarely does it meet
with this time's guise,

when man was wished to love his enemies.

Grant I may ever love, and rather woo

those that would mischief
me than those that do.

Has caught me in his eye.

I will present my honest grief unto him

and, as my lord, still
serve him with my life.

My dearest master!

Go away.

What art thou?

Have you forgot me sir?

I have forgot all men.

Then, if thou grant'st thou'rt
a man, I have forgot thee.

An honest poor servant of yours.

Then I know thee not.

I never had honest men about me.

Aye, all I kept were knaves,
to serve in meat to villains.

The gods are witness,

ne'er did poor steward wear a truer grief

for his undone lord
than mine eyes for you.

Why dost thou weep?

Come nearer.

Then I love thee,

because thou art a woman,

and disclaim'st flinty mankind,

whose eyes do never give

but thorough lust and laughter.

Pity's sleeping.

Strange times, that weep with
laughing, not with weeping.

[Flavius] I beg of you
to know me, good my lord,

to accept my grief and
whilst this poor wealth lasts

To entertain me as your steward still.

Had I a steward

so true, so just,

and now so comfortable?

It almost turns my dangerous nature mild.

Let me behold thy face.

Surely, this man was born of woman.

Forgive my general and
exceptless rashness,

you perpetual-sober gods!

I do proclaim one honest man,

mistake me not, but one,

no more, I pray,

and he's a steward.

How fain I would have hated all mankind.

But thou redeem'st thyself,

but all, save thee,

I fell with curses.

Methinks thou art more
honest now than wise,

for, by oppressing and betraying me,

thou mightst sooner have
got another service.

For many so arrive at second masters,

upon their first lord's neck.

You tell me true.

For I must ever doubt,
though ne'er so sure.

Is not thy kindness

subtle, covetous.

And usuring kindness,

and, as rich men deal gifts,

expecting in return twenty for one?

No, my most worthy master

in whose breast doubt and suspect,

alas, are placed too late.

You should have feared false
times when you did feast.

Suspect still comes
where an estate is least.

That which I show, heaven
knows, is merely love,

duty and zeal to your unmatched mind,

care of your food and
living, and, believe it,

my most honored lord,

for any benefit that comes to me,

either in hope or present,

I'd exchange for this one wish,

that you had power and wealth

to requite me, by making rich yourself.

Look thee, 'tis so!

Thou singly honest man.

The gods out of my misery

have sent thee treasure.

Go, live rich and happy.

But thus conditioned,

thou shalt build from men.

Hate all.

Curse all.

Show charity to none,

but let the famished
flesh slide from the bone,

ere thou relieve the beggar,

give to dogs what thou deny'st to men,

let prisons swallow 'em up,

debts wither 'em to nothing,

be men like blasted woods,

and diseases lick their false bloods!

So farewell and thrive.

Let me stay and comfort you my master.

While thou art blessed and free,

ne'er see thou man, and
let me ne'er see thee.

As I took note of the place,

it cannot be far where he abides.

What's to be thought of him?

Does the rumor hold for true,
that he's so full of gold?

Certain.

Alcibiades reports it,

Phrynia and Timandra had gold of him,

he likewise enriched
poor straggling soldiers

with great quantity.

Then this breaking of his

has been but a try for his friends.

Nothing else.

You shall see him a palm in Athens again,

and flourish with the highest.

Therefore 'tis not amiss
we tender our love to him,

in this supposed distress of his,

it will show honestly in us,

and is very likely to
load our purposes with

what they travail for, if
it be a just true report

that goes of his having.

What have you now to present unto him?

Nothing at this time but my visitation,

only I will promise him
a most excellent piece.

I must serve him so too,

tell him of an intent
that's coming towards him.

Good as the best.

Promising is the very air of the time

it opens the eyes of expectation,

performance is ever the duller for his act

and, but in the plainer
and simpler kind of people,

the deed of saying is quite out of use.

To promise is most
courtly and fashionable,

performance is a kind of will or testament

that argues a great sickness
in his judgment that makes it.

I am thinking what I shall say

that I have provided for him,

it must be a personating of himself,

a satire against the
softness of prosperity,

with a discovery of
the infinite flatteries

that follow youth and opulency.

Nay, let's seek him.

Then do we sin against our own estate,

when we may profit
meet, and come too late.

True.

When the day serves, before
black-cornered night,

find what thou want'st by
free and offered light.

Hail, worthy Timon.

Our late noble master.

Have I once lived to see two honest men?

Sir, having often of
your open bounty tasted,

hearing you were retired,

your friends fallen off,

whose thankless natures

oh abhorred spirits,

not all the whips of
heaven are large enough.

What, to you,

whose star-like nobleness

gave life and influence

to their whole being.

Well, I am rapt and cannot cover

the monstrous bulk of this ingratitude

with any size of words.

Let it go naked, men
may see it the better.

You that are honest,
by being what you are,

make it best seen and known.

He and myself

have travailed in the
great shower of your gifts,

and sweetly felt it.

Aye, you're honest men.

We are hither come to
offer you our service.

Most honest men.

How shall I requite you?

Can you eat root, and
drink cold water, no?

What we can do, we'll do

to do you service.

Aye, you're honest men.

you've heard that I have gold.

I am sure you have.

Speak truth, you're honest men.

So it is said, my noble lord

but therefore came not my friend nor I.

Good honest men.

Thou draw'st the best
counterfeit in all Athens.

Indeed, thou art the best,

thou counterfeit'st most lively.

So so my lord.

E'en so, sir, as I say.

And, for thy fiction,

why, thy verse swells with stuff

so fine and smooth

that even natural in thine own art.

But, for all this, my
honest-natured friends,

I must needs say you have a little fault.

Marry, 'tis not monstrous in you,

neither wish I you take
much pains to mend.

Beseech your honor, make it known to us.

You'll take it ill.

Most thankfully my lord.

Will you indeed?

Doubt it not, worthy lord.

There's never a one of
you that trusts a knave,

that mightily deceives you.

Do we, my lord?

Aye, and you hear him cog,

see him dissemble,

know his gross patchery, love him.

Feed him.

Keep in your bosom, yet remain assured

he's a made-up villain.

I know none such, my lord.

Nor I.

I love you well.

I'll give you gold,

rid me these fellows from your companies.

Hang them, stab them,
drown them in a draught,

confound them by some course, come to me,

I'll give you gold enough.

Name them my lord, let's know them.

You that way and you this.

Each man apart, but two in
company, all single and alone.

Yet an arch-villain keeps him company.

If where thou art two
villains shall not be,

come not near him.

If thou wilt not reside

but where one villain
is, then him abandon.

Hence.

Pack!

You came for gold, ye
slaves, there's gold!

You have worked for me there's payment,

You are an alchemist, make gold of that.

Out, rascal dogs!

It is in vain that you
would speak with Timon,

for he is set so only to himself

that nothing but himself
which looks like man

is friendly with him.

Bring us to him.

It is our part and
promise to the Athenians

to speak with Timon.

At all times alike

men are not still the same,

'twas time and griefs
that framed him thus,

time, with his fairer hand,

offering the fortunes of his former days,

the former man may make him.

Bring us to him,

and chance it as it may.

Lord Timon.

Timon.

Look out, and speak to friends,

the Athenians, by two of their

most reverend senate, greet thee.

Speak to them, noble Timon.

Thou sun, that comfort'st.

Burn.

Speak, and be hanged.

For each true word, a blister,

and each false be as cauterizing
to the root of the tongue,

consuming it with speaking.

Worthy Timon.

Of none but such is you, and you of Timon.

The senators of Athens greet thee, Timon.

I thank them.

And would send them back the plague

could I but catch it for them.

Forget what we are sorry
for ourselves in thee.

The senators with one consent of love

entreat thee back to Athens,

who have thought on special dignities,

which vacant lie for thy
best use and wearing.

They confess toward thee

the forgetfulness too general, and gross.

You witch me in it.

Surprise me to the very brink of tears.

Lend me a fool's heart and a woman's eyes,

and I'll beweep these
comforts, worthy senators.

Therefore, so please
thee to return with us.

Of our Athens, thine and ours,

to take the captainship, thou
shalt be met with thanks,

allowed with absolute power

and thy good name live with authority,

so soon we shall drive back

of Alcibiades the approaches wild,

who, like a boar too savage,

doth root up his country's peace.

[Senator One] And shakes
his threatening sword

against the wall of Athens.

[Senator Two] Therefore, Timon.

[Senator One] We've war.

I will return.

Therefore I will sir, thus.

If Alcibiades kill my countrymen,

let Alcibiades know this of Timon,

that Timon cares not.

But.

If he sack fair Athens,

and take our goodly
aged men by the beards,

giving our holy virgins to the stain

of contumelious, beastly, mad-brained war,

then let him know, and
tell him Timon speaks it,

in pity of our aged and our youth,

I cannot choose but tell him,

that I care not,

and let him take it at worst,

for their knives care not,

while you have throats to answer,

for myself, there's not a
whittle in the unruly camp

but I do prize it at my love before

the reverend'st throat in Athens.

So I leave you to the
protection of the gods,

as thieves to keepers.

Stay not all's in vain.

Why.

I was writing of my epitaph,

it will be seen to-morrow,

my long sickness of health
and living now begins to mend,

and nothing brings me all things.

Go.

Live still.

Be Alcibiades your plague, you his,

and live so long enough!

We speak in vain.

But yet.

I love my country,

and am not one that rejoices
in the common wreck,

as common bruit doth put it.

That's well spoken.

Commend me to my loving countrymen.

These words become your lips
as they pass thorough them.

And enter in our ears
like great triumphers

in their applauding gates.

Commend me to them,

and tell them that, to
ease them of their griefs,

their fears of hostile strokes,

their aches, losses,

their pangs of love, with
other incident throes

that nature's fragile vessel doth sustain

in life's uncertain voyage,
I will some kindness do them.

I'll teach them to prevent
wild Alcibiades' wrath.

[Senator One] I like this
well, he will return again.

I have a tree, which
grows here in my close,

that mine own use invites me to cut down,

and shortly must I fell it,

tell my friends, tell Athens,

in sequence of degree from
high to low throughout,

that who so please

to stop affliction,
let him take his haste.

Come hither, ere my
tree hath felt the axe,

and hang himself.

I pray you, do my greeting.

Trouble him no further, thus
you still shall find him.

Come not to me again,

but say to Athens,

Timon hath made his everlasting mansion

upon the beached verge of the salt flood.

Who once a day with his embossed froth

the turbulent surge shall cover,

thither come, let my
grave-stone be your oracle.

Lips.

Let forth words go by

and language end.

What is amiss,

plague and infection mend.

Graves only be men's works
and death their gain.

Sun, hide thy beams!

Timon hath done his reign.

His discontents are
unremovably coupled to nature.

Our hope in him is dead,

let us return, and strain what
other means are left to us

in our dear peril.

It requires swift foot.

The enemies' drum is heard,

and fearful scouring

doth choke the air with dust,

on, and prepare.

Ours is the fall, I
fear, our foes the snare.

[gravel crumbles]

Till now you have gone
on and filled the time

with all licentious
measure, making your wills

the scope of justice,

till now myself

and such as slept

within the shadow of your power

gave wandered with our traversed arms

and breathed our sufferance vainly.

Now.

The time is flush,

when crouching marrow in the bearer strong

cries of itself no more.

Now breathless wrong shall sit and pant

in your great chairs of ease,

and pursy insolence shall break his wind

with fear.

And horrid flight.

Noble and young,

when thy first griefs
were but a mere conceit,

ere thou hadst power or
we had cause of fear,

we sent to thee, to give thy rages balm,

there to wipe out our
ingratitude with loves

above their quantity.

So did we woo transformed
Timon to our city's love

by humble message and by promised means,

we were not all unkind, nor all deserve

the common stroke of war.

These walls of ours

were not erected by their hands

from whom you have received your griefs

nor are they such that these great towers,

trophies and schools should fall

for private faults in them.

Nor are they living

that were the motives
that you first went out.

Shame that they wanted cunning,

in excess hath broke their hearts.

March, noble lord, into our
city with thy banners spread.

By decimation, and a tithed death.

If thy revenges hunger for that food

which nature loathes,

take thou the destined tenth,

and by the hazard of the spotted die

let die the spotted.

All have not offended.

For those that were,

it is not square to take
on those that are, revenge.

Crimes, like lands,

are not inherited.

Then, dear countryman,

bring in thy ranks, but
leave without thy rage.

Spare thy Athenian cradle and those kin

which in the bluster
of thy wrath must fall

with those that have offended,

like a shepherd,

approach the fold and
cull the infected forth,

but kill not all together.

What thou wilt,

thou rather shalt
enforce it with thy smile

than hew to it with thy sword.

Set but thy foot

against our rampired
gates, and they shall ope.

So thou wilt send thy gentle heart before,

to say thou'lt enter friendly.

Throw thy glove,

or any token of thine honor else,

that thou wilt use these
wars as thy redress

and not as our confusion,

all thy powers shall make
their harbor in our town,

till we have sealed thy full desire.

Then there's my glove.

Those enemies of Timon's and mine own

whom you yourselves
shall set out for reproof

fall.

And no more.

And, to atone your fears
with my more noble meaning,

not a man shall pass his quarter,

or offend the stream

of regular justice in your city's bounds,

but shall be rendered to your public laws

at heaviest answer.

'Tis most nobly spoken.

My noble general, Timon is dead.

Entombed upon the very hem of the sea,

and on his grave-stone this insculpture,

which with wax I brought away,

whose soft impression interprets
for my poor ignorance.

Here lies a wretched corse,

of wretched soul bereft.

Seek not my name,

a plague consume you wicked caitiffs left.

Here lie I, Timon,

who, alive, all living men did hate.

Pass by and curse thy fill,

but pass and stay not here thy gait.

These well express in
thee thy latter spirits.

Though thou abhorr'dst
in us our human griefs,

scorn'dst our brain's flow

and those our droplets which
from niggard nature fall,

yet rich conceit taught thee

to make vast Neptune weep
for aye on thy low grave,

on faults forgiven.

Dead is noble Timon,

of whose memory hereafter more.

Bring me into your city,

and I will use the olive with my sword,

make war breed peace,

make peace stint war,

make each prescribe to
other as each other's.

Leech.

[soft flute music]

[medieval music]