William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition (433 page)
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Authors: William Shakespeare
Tags: #Drama, #Literary Criticism, #Shakespeare
BOOK: William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition
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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.
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.
Enter other Servants
More of our fellows.
FLAVIUS
All broken implements of a ruined house.
THIRD SERVANT
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 barque,
And we, poor mates, stand on the dying deck
Hearing the surges’ threat. We must all part
Into this sea of air.
That see I by our faces. We are fellows still,
Serving alike in sorrow. Leaked is our barque,
And we, poor mates, stand on the dying deck
Hearing the surges’ threat. We must all part
Into this sea of air.
FLAVIUS
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.’
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.’
He gives them money
Let each take some.
Nay, put out all your hands. Not one word more.
Thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poor.
Thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poor.
They embrace, and the Servants part several ways
O, 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 ingrateful seat
Of monstrous friends;
Nor has he with him to supply his life,
Or that which can command it.
I’ll follow and enquire him out.
I’ll ever serve his mind with my best will.
Whilst I have gold I’ll be his steward still.
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 ingrateful seat
Of monstrous friends;
Nor has he with him to supply his life,
Or that which can command it.
I’ll follow and enquire him out.
I’ll ever serve his mind with my best will.
Whilst I have gold I’ll be his steward still.
Exit
4.3Enter Timon
⌈
from his cave
⌉
in the woods,
⌈
half naked, and with a spade
⌉
TIMON
O blessèd 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.
It is the pasture lards the brother’s sides,
The want that makes him lean.
Raise me this beggar and demit that lord,
The senator shall bear contempt hereditary,
The beggar native honour. Who dares, who dares
In purity of manhood stand upright
And say ‘This man’s a flatterer’? If one be,
So are they all, for every grece of fortune
Is smoothed by that below. The learnèd pate
Ducks to the golden fool. All’s obliquy;
There’s nothing level in our cursed natures
But direct villainy. Therefore be abhorred
All feasts, societies, and throngs of men.
His semblable, yea, himself, Timon disdains.
Destruction fang mankind. Earth, yield me roots.
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.
It is the pasture lards the brother’s sides,
The want that makes him lean.
Raise me this beggar and demit that lord,
The senator shall bear contempt hereditary,
The beggar native honour. Who dares, who dares
In purity of manhood stand upright
And say ‘This man’s a flatterer’? If one be,
So are they all, for every grece of fortune
Is smoothed by that below. The learnèd pate
Ducks to the golden fool. All’s obliquy;
There’s nothing level in our cursed natures
But direct villainy. Therefore be abhorred
All feasts, societies, and throngs of men.
His semblable, yea, himself, Timon disdains.
Destruction fang mankind. Earth, yield me roots.
He digs
Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate
With thy most operant poison.
With thy most operant poison.
He finds gold
What is here?
Gold? Yellow, glittering, precious gold?
No, gods, I am no idle votarist:
Roots, you clear heavens. Thus much of this will
make
Black white, foul fair, wrong right,
Base noble, old young, coward valiant.
Ha, you gods! Why this, what, this, you gods? Why,
this
Will lug your priests and servants from your sides,
Pluck stout men’s pillows from below their heads.
This yellow slave
Will knit and break religions, bless th’accursed,
Make the hoar leprosy adored, place thieves,
And give them title, knee, and approbation
With senators on the bench. This is it
That makes the wappered widow wed again.
She whom the spittle house and ulcerous sores
Would cast the gorge at, this embalms and spices
To th’ April day again. Come, damned earth,
Thou common whore of mankind, that puts odds
Among the rout of nations; I will make thee
Do thy right nature.
No, gods, I am no idle votarist:
Roots, you clear heavens. Thus much of this will
make
Black white, foul fair, wrong right,
Base noble, old young, coward valiant.
Ha, you gods! Why this, what, this, you gods? Why,
this
Will lug your priests and servants from your sides,
Pluck stout men’s pillows from below their heads.
This yellow slave
Will knit and break religions, bless th’accursed,
Make the hoar leprosy adored, place thieves,
And give them title, knee, and approbation
With senators on the bench. This is it
That makes the wappered widow wed again.
She whom the spittle house and ulcerous sores
Would cast the gorge at, this embalms and spices
To th’ April day again. Come, damned earth,
Thou common whore of mankind, that puts odds
Among the rout of nations; I will make thee
Do thy right nature.
March afar off
Ha, a drum! Thou’rt quick;
But yet I’ll bury thee.
He buries gold
Thou’lt go, strong thief,
When gouty keepers of thee cannot stand.
He keeps some gold
Nay, stay thou out for earnest.
Enter Alcibiades, with soldiers playing drum and
fife, in warlike manner; and Phrynia and Timandra
ALCIBIADES What art thou there? Speak.
TIMON
A beast, as thou art. The canker gnaw thy heart
For showing me again the eyes of man.
For showing me again the eyes of man.
ALCIBIADES
What is thy name? Is man so hateful to thee
That art thyself a man?
That art thyself a man?
TIMON
I am Misanthropos, and hate mankind.
For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog,
That I might love thee something.
For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog,
That I might love thee something.
ALCIBIADES I know thee well,
But in thy fortunes am unlearned and strange.
TIMON
I know thee too, and more than that I know thee
I not desire to know. Follow thy drum.
With man’s blood paint the ground gules, gules.
Religious canons, civil laws, are cruel;
Then what should war be? This fell whore of thine
Hath in her more destruction than thy sword,
For all her cherubin look.
I not desire to know. Follow thy drum.
With man’s blood paint the ground gules, gules.
Religious canons, civil laws, are cruel;
Then what should war be? This fell whore of thine
Hath in her more destruction than thy sword,
For all her cherubin look.
PHRYNIA Thy lips rot off!
TIMON
I will not kiss thee; then the rot returns
To thine own lips again.
To thine own lips again.
ALCIBIADES
How came the noble Timon to this change?
TIMON
As the moon does, by wanting light to give.
But then renew I could not like the moon;
There were no suns to borrow of.
But then renew I could not like the moon;
There were no suns to borrow of.
ALCIBIADES
Noble Timon, what friendship may I do thee?
TIMON
None but to maintain my opinion.
ALCIBIADES What is it, Timon?
TIMON Promise me friendship, but perform none. If thou wilt promise, the gods plague thee, for thou art a man. If thou dost not perform, confound thee, for thou art a man.
ALCIBIADES
I have heard in some sort of thy miseries.
TIMON
Thou saw’st them when I had prosperity.
ALCIBIADES
I see them now; then was a blessèd time.
TIMON
As thine is now, held with a brace of harlots.
TIMANDRA
Is this th’Athenian minion, whom the world
Voiced so regardfully?
Voiced so regardfully?
SIMON Art thou Timandra?
TIMANDRA Yes.
TIMON
Be a whore still. They love thee not that use thee.
Give them diseases, leaving with thee their lust.
Make use of thy salt hours: season the slaves
For tubs and baths, bring down rose-cheeked youth
To the tub-fast and the diet.
Give them diseases, leaving with thee their lust.
Make use of thy salt hours: season the slaves
For tubs and baths, bring down rose-cheeked youth
To the tub-fast and the diet.
TIMANDRA Hang thee, monster!
ALCIBIADES
Pardon him, sweet Timandra, for his wits
Are drowned and lost in his calamities.
I have but little gold of late, brave Timon,
The want whereof doth daily make revolt
In my penurious band. I have heard and grieved
How cursed Athens, mindless of thy worth,
Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbour states
But for thy sword and fortune trod upon them—
Are drowned and lost in his calamities.
I have but little gold of late, brave Timon,
The want whereof doth daily make revolt
In my penurious band. I have heard and grieved
How cursed Athens, mindless of thy worth,
Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbour states
But for thy sword and fortune trod upon them—
TIMON
I prithee, beat thy drum and get thee gone.
ALCIBIADES
I am thy friend, and pity thee, dear Timon.
TIMON
How dost thou pity him whom thou dost trouble?
I had rather be alone.
I had rather be alone.
ALCIBIADES Why, fare thee well.
Here is some gold for thee.
TIMON Keep it. I cannot eat it.
ALCIBIADES
When I have laid proud Athens on a heap—
TIMON
Warr‘st thou ’gainst Athens?
ALCIBIADES Ay, Timon, and have cause.
TIMON
The gods confound them all in thy conquest,
And thee after, when thou hast conquered.
And thee after, when thou hast conquered.
ALCIBIADES
Why me, Timon?
TIMON That by killing of villains
Thou wast born to conquer my country.
Put up thy gold.
Put up thy gold.
He gives Alcibiades gold
Go on; here’s gold; go on.
Be as a planetary plague when Jove
Will o’er some high-viced city hang his poison
In the sick air. Let not thy sword skip one.
Pity not honoured age for his white beard;
He is an usurer. Strike me the counterfeit matron;
It is her habit only that is honest,
Herself’s a bawd. Let not the virgin’s cheek
Make soft thy trenchant sword; for those milk paps
That through the window-bars bore at men’s eyes
Are not within the leaf of pity writ;
But set them down horrible traitors. Spare not the
babe
Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their mercy.
Think it a bastard whom the oracle
Hath doubtfully pronounced thy throat shall cut,
And mince it sans remorse. Swear against objects.
Put armour on thine ears and on thine eyes
Whose proof nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes,
Nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding,
Shall pierce a jot. There’s gold to pay thy soldiers.
Make large confusion, and, thy fury spent,
Confounded be thyself. Speak not. Be gone.
Will o’er some high-viced city hang his poison
In the sick air. Let not thy sword skip one.
Pity not honoured age for his white beard;
He is an usurer. Strike me the counterfeit matron;
It is her habit only that is honest,
Herself’s a bawd. Let not the virgin’s cheek
Make soft thy trenchant sword; for those milk paps
That through the window-bars bore at men’s eyes
Are not within the leaf of pity writ;
But set them down horrible traitors. Spare not the
babe
Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their mercy.
Think it a bastard whom the oracle
Hath doubtfully pronounced thy throat shall cut,
And mince it sans remorse. Swear against objects.
Put armour on thine ears and on thine eyes
Whose proof nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes,
Nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding,
Shall pierce a jot. There’s gold to pay thy soldiers.
Make large confusion, and, thy fury spent,
Confounded be thyself. Speak not. Be gone.
ALCIBIADES
Hast thou gold yet? I’ll take the gold thou giv’st me,
Not all thy counsel.
Not all thy counsel.
TIMON
Dost thou or dost thou not, heaven’s curse upon thee!
PHRYNIA
and
TIMANDRA
and
TIMANDRA
Give us some gold, good Timon. Hast thou more?
TIMON
Enough to make a whore forswear her trade,
And to make wholesomeness a bawd. Hold up, you
And to make wholesomeness a bawd. Hold up, you
sluts,
Your aprons mountant.
⌈
He throws gold into their aprons
⌉
You are not oathable,
Although I know you’ll swear, terribly swear,
Into strong shudders and to heavenly agues
Th’immortal gods that hear you. Spare your oaths;
I’ll trust to your conditions. Be whores still,
And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you,
Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up.
Let your close fire predominate his smoke;
And be no turncoats. Yet may your pain-sick months
Be quite contrary, and thatch your poor thin roofs
With burdens of the dead—some that were hanged,
No matter. Wear them, betray with them; whore still;
Paint till a horse may mire upon your face.
A pox of wrinkles!
Into strong shudders and to heavenly agues
Th’immortal gods that hear you. Spare your oaths;
I’ll trust to your conditions. Be whores still,
And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you,
Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up.
Let your close fire predominate his smoke;
And be no turncoats. Yet may your pain-sick months
Be quite contrary, and thatch your poor thin roofs
With burdens of the dead—some that were hanged,
No matter. Wear them, betray with them; whore still;
Paint till a horse may mire upon your face.
A pox of wrinkles!
PHRYNIA
and
TIMANDRA Well, more gold; what then?
and
TIMANDRA Well, more gold; what then?
Believe’t that we’ll do anything for gold.
TIMON Consumptions sow
In hollow bones of man, strike their sharp shins,
And mar men’s spurring. Crack the lawyer’s voice,
That he may never more false title plead
Nor sound his quillets shrilly. Hoar the flamen
That scolds against the quality of flesh
And not believes himself. Down with the nose,
Down with it flat; take the bridge quite away
Of him that his particular to foresee
Smells from the general weal. Make curled-pate
ruffians bald,
And let the unscarred braggarts of the war
Derive some pain from you. Plague all,
That your activity may defeat and quell
The source of all erection. There’s more gold.
Do you damn others, and let this damn you;
And ditches grave you all!
And mar men’s spurring. Crack the lawyer’s voice,
That he may never more false title plead
Nor sound his quillets shrilly. Hoar the flamen
That scolds against the quality of flesh
And not believes himself. Down with the nose,
Down with it flat; take the bridge quite away
Of him that his particular to foresee
Smells from the general weal. Make curled-pate
ruffians bald,
And let the unscarred braggarts of the war
Derive some pain from you. Plague all,
That your activity may defeat and quell
The source of all erection. There’s more gold.
Do you damn others, and let this damn you;
And ditches grave you all!
PHRYNIA
and
TIMANDRA
and
TIMANDRA
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