First Senator
You undergo too strict a paradox,
Striving to make an ugly deed look fair:
Your words have took such pains as if they labour’d
To bring manslaughter into form and set quarrelling
Upon the head of valour; which indeed
Is valour 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,
To bring it into danger.
If wrongs be evils and enforce us kill,
What folly ’tis to hazard life for ill!
Alcibiades
My lord,—
First Senator
You cannot make gross sins look clear:
To revenge is no valour, but to bear.
Alcibiades
My lords, then, under favour, pardon me,
If I speak like a captain.
Why do fond men expose themselves to battle,
And not endure all threats? sleep upon’t,
And let the foes quietly cut their throats,
Without repugnancy? If there be
Such valour 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 felon
Loaden with irons wiser than the judge,
If wisdom be in suffering. O 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 defence, by mercy, ’tis most just.
To be in anger is impiety;
But who is man that is not angry?
Weigh but the crime with this.
Second Senator
You breathe in vain.
Alcibiades
In vain! his service done
At Lacedaemon and Byzantium
Were a sufficient briber for his life.
First Senator
What’s that?
Alcibiades
I say, my lords, he has done fair service,
And slain in fight many of your enemies:
How full of valour did he bear himself
In the last conflict, and made plenteous wounds!
Second Senator
He has made too much plenty with ’em;
He’s a sworn rioter: he has a sin that often
Drowns him, and takes his valour prisoner:
If there were no foes, that were enough
To overcome him: in that beastly fury
He has been known to commit outrages,
And cherish factions: ’tis inferr’d to us,
His days are foul and his drink dangerous.
First Senator
He dies.
Alcibiades
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 both:
And, for I know your reverend ages love
Security, I’ll pawn my victories, all
My honours to you, upon his good returns.
If by this crime he owes the law his life,
Why, let the war receive ’t in valiant gore
For law is strict, and war is nothing more.
First Senator
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.
Alcibiades
Must it be so? it must not be. My lords,
I do beseech you, know me.
Second Senator
How!
Alcibiades
Call me to your remembrances.
Third Senator
What!
Alcibiades
I cannot think but 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.
First Senator
Do you dare our anger?
’Tis in few words, but spacious in effect;
We banish thee for ever.
Alcibiades
Banish me!
Banish your dotage; banish usury,
That makes the senate ugly.
First Senator
If, after two days’ shine, Athens contain thee,
Attend our weightier judgment. And, not to swell our spirit,
He shall be executed presently.
Exeunt Senators
Alcibiades
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 banish’d;
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.
’Tis honour with most lands to be at odds;
Soldiers should brook as little wrongs as gods.
Exit
SCENE VI. THE SAME. A BANQUETING-ROOM IN TIMON’S HOUSE.
Music. Tables set out: Servants attending. Enter divers Lords, Senators and others, at several doors
First Lord
The good time of day to you, sir.
Second Lord
I also wish it to you. I think this honourable lord did but try us this other day.
First Lord
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.
Second Lord
It should not be, by the persuasion of his new feasting.
First Lord
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.
Second Lord
In 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.
First Lord
I am sick of that grief too, as I understand how all things go.
Second Lord
Every man here’s so. What would he have borrowed of you?
First Lord
A thousand pieces.
Second Lord
A thousand pieces!
First Lord
What of you?
Second Lord
He sent to me, sir,— Here he comes.
Enter Timon and Attendants
Timon
With all my heart, gentlemen both; and how fare you?
First Lord
Ever at the best, hearing well of your lordship.
Second Lord
The swallow follows not summer more willing than we your lordship.
Timon
[Aside] Nor more willingly leaves winter; such summer-birds are men. Gentlemen, our dinner will not recompense this long stay: feast your ears with the music awhile, if they will fare so harshly o’ the trumpet’s sound; we shall to ’t presently.
First Lord
I hope it remains not unkindly with your lordship that I returned you an empty messenger.
T
imon
O, sir, let it not trouble you.
Second Lord
My noble lord,—
Timon
Ah, my good friend, what cheer?
Second Lord
My most honourable lord, I am e’en sick of shame, that, when your lordship this other day sent to me, I was so unfortunate a beggar.
Timon
Think not on ’t, sir.
Second Lord
If you had sent but two hours before,—
Timon
Let it not cumber your better remembrance.
The banquet brought in
Come, bring in all together.
Second Lord
All covered dishes!
First Lord
Royal cheer, I warrant you.
Third Lord
Doubt not that, if money and the season can yield it.
First Lord
How do you? What’s the news?
Third Lord
Alcibiades is banished: hear you of it?
First Lord
Second Lord
Alcibiades banished!
Third Lord
’Tis so, be sure of it.
First Lord
How! how!
Second Lord
I pray you, upon what?
Timon
My worthy friends, will you draw near?
Third Lord
I’ll tell you more anon. Here’s a noble feast toward.
Second Lord
This is the old man still.
Third Lord
Will ’t hold? will ’t hold?
Second Lord
It does: but time will — and so —
Third Lord
I do conceive.
Timon
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, make yourselves 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 a dozen of them be — as they are. The rest of your fees, O gods — the senators of Athens, together with the common lag 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.
The dishes are uncovered and seen to be full of warm water
Some Speak
What does his lordship mean?
Some Others
I know not.
Timon
May you a better feast never behold,
You knot of mouth-friends I 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 villany.
Throwing the water in their faces
Live loathed and long,
Most smiling, smooth, detested parasites,
Courteous destroyers, affable wolves, meek bears,
You fools of fortune, trencher-friends, time’s flies,
Cap and knee slaves, vapours, and minute-jacks!
Of man and beast the infinite malady
Crust you quite o’er! What, dost thou go?
Soft! take thy physic first — thou too — and thou;—
Stay, I will lend thee money, borrow none.
Throws the dishes at them, and drives them out
What, all in motion? Henceforth be no feast,
Whereat a villain’s not a welcome guest.
Burn, house! sink, Athens! henceforth hated be
Of Timon man and all humanity!
Exit
Re-enter the Lords, Senators, & c
First Lord
How now, my lords!
Second Lord
Know you the quality of Lord Timon’s fury?
Third Lord
Push! did you see my cap?
Fourth Lord
I have lost my gown.
First Lord
He’s but a mad lord, and nought but humour sways him. He gave me a jewel th’ other day, and now he has beat it out of my hat: did you see my jewel?
Third Lord
Did you see my cap?
Second Lord
Here ’tis.
Fourth Lord
Here lies my gown.
First Lord
Let’s make no stay.
Second Lord
Lord Timon’s mad.
Third Lord
I feel ’t upon my bones.
Fourth Lord
One day he gives us diamonds, next day stones.
Exeunt
ACT IV
SCENE I. WITHOUT THE WALLS OF ATHENS.
Enter Timon
Timon
Let me look back upon thee. O thou wall,
That girdlest in those wolves, dive in the earth,
And fence not Athens! Matrons, turn incontinent!
Obedience fail in children! slaves and fools,
Pluck the grave wrinkled senate from the bench,
And minister in their steads! to general filths
Convert o’ the instant, green virginity,
Do ’t in your parents’ eyes! bankrupts, hold fast;
Rather than render back, out with your knives,
And 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 o’ the brothel! Son of sixteen,
Pluck the lined crutch from thy old limping sire,
With it beat out his brains! Piety, and fear,
Religion to the gods, peace, justice, truth,
Domestic awe, night-rest, and neighbourhood,
Instruction, manners, mysteries, and trades,
Degrees, observances, customs, and laws,
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 in the minds and marrows of our youth,
That ’gainst 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,
At their society, as their friendship, may
Merely poison! Nothing I’ll bear from thee,
But nakedness, thou detestable town!
Take thou that too, with multiplying bans!
Timon will to the woods; where he shall find
The unkindest beast more kinder than mankind.
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
To the whole race of mankind, high and low! Amen.
Exit
SCENE II. ATHENS. A ROOM IN TIMON’S HOUSE.
Enter Flavius, with two or three Servants
First Servant
Hear you, master steward, where’s our master?
Are we undone? cast off? nothing remaining?
Flavius
Alack, my fellows, what should I say to you?
Let me be recorded by the righteous gods,
I am as poor as you.
First Servant
&nbs
p; Such a house broke!
So noble a master fall’n! All gone! and not
One friend to take his fortune by the arm,
And go along with him!
Second Servant
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 pick’d; and his poor self,
A dedicated beggar to the air,
With his disease of all-shunn’d poverty,
Walks, like contempt, alone. More of our fellows.
Enter other Servants
Flavius
All broken implements of a ruin’d 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: leak’d 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.
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.’ Let each take some;
Nay, put out all your hands. Not one word more:
Thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poor.
Servants embrace, and 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 mock’d 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 varnish’d 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, bless’d, 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 inquire him out:
I’ll ever serve his mind with my best will;
Whilst I have gold, I’ll be his steward still.
Exit
SCENE III. WOODS AND CAVE, NEAR THE SEASHORE.
Enter Timon, from the cave
O blessed breeding sun, draw from the earth
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