Enter ALCIBIADES, with drum and fife, in warlike manner; PHRYNIA and TIMANDRA. Alcib. Speak. What art thou there? 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 thee, That art thyself a man? Tim. I am misanthropos, and hate mankind. For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog, That I might love thee something. Alcib. 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 whore of thine Hath in her more destruction than thy sword, For all her cherubin look. Phr. 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 change? Tim. 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. Alcib. What friendship may I do thee? Noble Timon, Tim. Maintain my opinion. Alcib. None, but to What is it, Timon? Tim. 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'rt a man! Alcib. I have heard in some sort of thy miseries. Tim. Thou saw'st them, when I had prosperity. Alcib. I see them now; then was a blessed time. Tim. As thine is now, held with a brace of harlots. Timan. Is this the Athenian minion, whom the world Voic'd so regardfully? Tim. Timan. Art thou Timandra ? Yes. Tim. Be a whore still! they love thee not, that use thee; Give them diseases, leaving with thee their lust. For tubs, and baths; bring down rose-cheeked youth Timan. Hang thee, monster! Alcib. Pardon him, sweet Timandra; 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, 4 Alluding to the cure for the lues venerea then in practice. 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 Timon. Tim. How dost thou pity him, whom thou dost trouble? Alcib. When I have laid proud Athens on a heap, Tim. Warr'st thou 'gainst Athens? Alcib. Ay, Timon, and have cause. Tim. The gods confound them all i'thy conquest; and Thee after, when thou hast conquer'd! Alcib. Tim. That, Why me, Timon? By killing villains, thou wast born to conquer Put up thy gold; Go on,-here's gold,-go on; Will o'er some high-vic'd city hang his poison He's an usurer: Strike me the counterfeit matron; Herself's a bawd: Let not the virgin's cheek Make soft thy trenchant sword; for those milk paps, s Cutting. That through the window-bars bore at men's eyes, Set them down horrible traitors: Spare not the babe, 6 Hath doubtfully pronounc'd thy throat shall cut, jects; 8 Swear against ob Put armour on thine ears, and on thine eyes; Alcib. Hast thou gold yet? I'll take the gold thou giv'st me, Not all thy counsel. Tim. Dost thou, or dost thou not, heaven's curse upon thee! Phr. & Timan. Give us some gold, good Timon: Hast thou more? Tim. 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:9 Be whores still; And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you, Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up; 6 An allusion to the tale of Oedipus. 7 Without pity. 3 i. e. Against objects of charity and compassion. 9 Vocations. Let your close fire predominate his smoke, Paint till a horse may mire upon your face: Phr. & Timan. Well, more gold;-What then?-Believ't, that we'll do any thing for gold. Tim. Consumptions sow In hollow bones of man; strike their sharp shins, Nor sound his quillets? shrilly: hoar the flamen, And not believes himself: down with the nose, Smells from the general weal: make curl'd-pate ruffians bald; And let the unscarr'd braggarts of the war 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 grave1 you all! Phr. & Timan. More counsel with more money, bounteous Timon. Tim. More whore, more mischief first; I have given you earnest. VOL. VIII. G |