Apem. 'Would 'twere so ;

But not till I am dead!-I'll say, thou hast gold:
Thou wilt be throng'd to shortly.

Tim. Throng'd to?

Apem. Ay.

Tim. Thy back, I pr'ythee.

Apem. Live, and love thy misery

Tim. Long live so, and so die!-I am quit.—

[Exit APEMANTUS.

More things like men ?-Eat, Timon, and abhor them.

Enter THIEVES.

1 Thief. Where should he have this 'gold? It is some poor fragment, some slender ort of his remainder: The mere want of gold, and the falling-from of his friends, drove him into this melancholy.

2 Thief. It is noised, he hath a mass of treasure.

3 Thief. Let us make the assay upon him: if he care not for't, he will supply us easily; If he covetously reserve it, how shall's get it ?

2 Thief. True; for he bears it not about him, 'tis hid,

1 Thief. Is not this he?

Thieves. Where?

2 Thief. "Tis his description. 3 Thief. He? I know him. Thieves. Save thee, Timon. Tim. Now, thieves?

Thieves. Soldiers, not thieves.

Tim. Both, too; and women's sons.

Thieves. We are not thieves, but men that much do want.

Tim. Your greatest want is, you want much of 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?
1 Thief. We cannot live on grass, on berries, water,

As beasts, and birds, and fishes.

Tim. Nor on the beasts themselves, the birds, and fishes;
You must eat men. Yet thanks I must you con,
That you are thieves profess'd; that you work not

In holier shapes: for there is boundless theft

*

In limited professions. Rascal thieves,

Here's gold: Go, suck the subtle blood of the grape,
Till the high fever seeth your blood to froth,
And so 'scape hanging: trust not the physician;
His antidotes are poison, and he slays

More than you rob: take wealth and lives together;
Do villany, do, since you profess to do't,
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,

* Regular.

And her pale fire she snatches 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 by a composture * stolen
From general excrement; each thing's a thief;
The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough power
Have uncheck'd theft. Love not yourselves; away;
Rob one another. There's more gold: Cut throats;
All that 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 howsoever!
Amen.

[TIMON retires to his Cave. 3 Thief. He has almost charm'd me from my profession, by persuading me to it.

1 Thief. "Tis in the malice of mankind, that he thus advises us; not to have us thrive in our mystery.

2 Thief. I'll believe him as an enemy, and give over my trade. 1 Thief. Let us first see peace in Athens: There is no time so miserable, but a man may be true. [Exeunt THIEVES.

Flav. O you gods!

Enter FLAVIUS.

Is yon despised and ruinous man my lord?
Full of decay and failing? O monument
And wonder of good deeds evilly bestow'd!
What an alteration of honour + has
Desperate want made!

What viler thing upon the earth, than friends,
Who can bring noblest minds to basest ends!
How rarely does it meet with this time's guise,
When man was wish'd § to love his enemies :
Grant, I may ever love, and rather woo

Those that would mischief me, than those that do!
He 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!

TIMON comes forward from his Cave.

Tim. Away! what art thou?

Flav. Have you forgot me, Sir?

Tim. Why dost ask that? I have forgot all men ; Then, if thou grant'st thou'rt man, I have forgot thee. Flav. An honest poor servant of yours.

Tim. Then

I know thee not: I ne'er had honest man
About me, I; all that I kept were knaves,
To serve in meat to villains.

Flav. The gods are witness,

Ne'er did poor steward wear a truer grief

For his undone lord, than mine eyes for you.

* Compost, manure.

+ Happily.

+ Honourable state.
Recommended.

Tim. What, 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!
Flav. 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.

Tim. Had I a steward so true, so just, and now So comfortable ? it almost turns

My dangerous nature wild. Let me behold

Thy face. Surely, this man was born of woman.—
Forgive my general and exceptless rashness,
Perpetual-sober gods! I do proclaim

One honest man,-mistake me not, but one;
No more, I pray, and he is a steward.-
How fain would I have hated all mankind,
And 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 have sooner got another service :
For many so arrive at second masters,

Upon their first lord's neck. But tell me true
(For I must ever doubt, though ne'er so sure),
Is not thy kindness subtle, covetous,

If not a usuring kindness; and as rích men deal gifts,
Expecting in return twenty for one?

Flav. No, my most worthy master, in whose breast
Doubt and suspect, alas, are placed too late:

You should have fear'd 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 honour'd lord,

For any benefit that points 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.

Tim. Look thee, 'tis so!-Thou singly honest man,

Here take-the gods out of my misery

Have sent the treasure. Go, live rich and happy :
But thus condition'd; thou shalt build from men ;*
Hate all, curse all: show charity to none;

But let the famish'd flesh slide from the bone,

Ere thou relieve the beggar: give to dogs

What thou deniest to men; let prisons swallow them,
Debts wither them: Be men, like blasted woods,

And may diseases lick up their false bloods!

And so, farewell, and thrive.

*From human habitation.

Flav. O, let me stay,

And comfort you, my master.

Tim. If thou hatest

Curses, stay not; fly, whilst thou'rt bless'd and free:

Ne'er see thou man, and let me ne'er see thee. [Exeunt severally.

ACT V.

SCENE I-The same. Before TIMON's Cave.

Enter POET and PAINTER; TIMON behind, unseen.

Pain. As I took note of the place, it cannot be far where he abides.

Poet. What's to be thought of him? Does the rumour hold for true, that he is so full of gold?

Pain. Certain: Alcibiades reports it; Phrynia and Timandra had gold of him: he likewise enriched poor straggling soldiers with great quantity: "Tis said, he gave unto his steward a mighty

sum.

Poet. Then this breaking of his has been but a try for his friends. Pain. Nothing else: you shall see him a palm in Athens again, and flourish with the highest. Therefore, 'tis not amiss, we tender our loves 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 travel for, if it be a just and true report that goes of his having

Poet. What have you now to present unto him?

Pain. Nothing at this time but my visitation: only I will promise him an excellent piece.

Poet. I must serve him so too; tell him of an intent that's coming toward him.

Pain. Good as the best. Promising is the very air o' 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 and testament, which argues a great sickness in his judgment that makes it. Tim. Excellent workman! Thou canst not paint a man so bad as is thyself.

Poet. I am thinking, what I shall say 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.

Tim. Must thou needs stand for a villain in thine own work? Wilt thou whip thine own faults in other men? Do so, I have gold for thee.

Poet. Nay, let's seek him:

Then do we sin against our own estate,

When we may profit meet, and come too late.

*The doing that we said we would do.

Pain. True;

When the day serves, before black-corner'd night,
Find what thou want'st by free and offer'd light.
Come.

Tim. I'll meet you at the turn. What a god's gold,
That he is worshipp'd in a baser temple,

Than where swine feed!

"Tis thou that rigg'st the bark, and plough'st the foam; Settlest admired reverence in a slave:

To thee be worship! and thy saints for aye

Be crown'd with plagues, that thee alone obey! 'Fit I do meet them.

Poet. Hail, worthy Timon!

Pain. Our late noble master.

Tim. Have I once lived to see two honest men?
Poet. Sir,

Having often of your open bounty tasted,
Hearing you were retired, your friends fallen off,
Whose thankless natures-O 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! I'm wrap't, and cannot cover
The monstrous bulk of this ingratitude

With any size of words.

Tim. Let it go naked, men may see't the better: You that are honest, by being what you are,

Make them best seen, and known.

Pain. He, and myself,

Have travell'd in the great shower of your gifts,

And sweetly felt it.

Tim. Ay, you are honest men.

Pain. We are hither come to offer you our service.

[Advancing.

Tim. Most honest men! Why, how shall I requite you?

Can you eat roots, and drink cold water? no.

Both. What we can do, we'll do, to do you service.

Tim. You are honest men: You have heard that I have gold; I am sure you have: speak truth: you are honest men.

Pain. So it is said, my noble lord: but therefore

Came not my friend, nor I.

Tim. Good honest men !-Thou draw'st a counterfeit*
Best in all Athens: thou art, indeed, the best;
Thou counterfeit'st most lively.

Pain. So, so, my lord.

Tim. Even so, Sir, as I say :-And, for thy fiction,

[To the POET.

Why thy verse swells with stuff so fine and smooth,
That thou art even natural in thine 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.

* Portrait.