Tim. Enough to make a whore forfwear her trade,
And to make whole a bawd. (21) Hold up, you fluts,
Your aprons mountant; you're not othable,
Although, I know, you'll fwear; terribly fwear
Into ftrong fhudders, and to heav'nly agues,
Th' immortal Gods that hear you. Spare your oaths:
I'll truft to your conditions, be whores ftill.
And he whofe pious breath feeks to convert you,
Be ftrong in whore, allare him, burn him up.
Let your clofe fire predominate his fmoak,

And be no turn-coats: yet may your pains fix months
Be quite contrary. Make falfe hair, and thatch
Your poor thin roofs with burthens of the dead,
(Some that were hang'd, no matter:-)
Wear them, betray with them; and whore on fill:
Paint 'till a horfe may mire upon your face ;

A

pox of wrinkles!

what then ?

Both. Well, more gold

Believe, that we'll do any thing for gold.

Tim. Confumptions fow

In hollow bones of man, ftrike their fharp fhins,
And mar mens' fpurring. Crack the lawyer's voice,
That he may never more falfe Title plead,

Nor found his quillets fhrilly. Hoar the Flamen,
That fcolds againft the quality of fleft,
And not believes himself. Down with the nofe,
Down with it flat; take the bridge quite away
Of him, that his particular to forefee

(21) And to make whore a Bawd.] The Power of Gold, indeed, may be fuppos'd great, that can make a Whore forfake her Trade; but what mighty Difficulty was there in making a Whore turn Bawd? And yet, 'tis plain, here he is defcribing the mighty Power of Gold. He had before fhewn, how Gold can perfuade to any villany; he now fhews that it has still a greatèr Force, and can even turn from Vice to the Practice, or, at leaft, the Semblance of Virtue. We must therefore read, to reftore Senfe to our Author,

And to make whole a Bard

i. e. not only make her quit her Calling, but thereby restore her to Reputation.

Mr. Warburton.
Smells

Smells from the gen'ral weal. Make curl'd-pate ruffians

bald,

And let the unfcarr'd braggarts of the war
Derive fome pain from you. Plague all;
That your activity may defeat, and quell
The fource of all erection. There's more gold.
Do you damn others, and let this damn you,
And ditches grave you all!

Both. More counsel with more mony, bounteous Timon.
Tim. More whore, more mischief, firft; I've given
you earnest.

Alc. Strike up the drum tow'rds Athens; farewel, Timon: If I thrive well, I'll vifit thee again.

Tim. If I hope well, I'll never see thee more.
Atc. I never did thee harm.

Tim. Yes, thou fpok'ft well of me.

Alc. Call'st thou that harm?

Tim. Men daily find it. Get thee hence, away,

And take thy beagles with thee.

Alc. We but offend him: ftrike.

[Exeunt Alcibiad. Phryn. and Timand.

Tim. That Nature, being fick of man's unkindness, Should yet be hungry! Common mother, thou Whofe womb unmeasurable, and infinite breast Teems, and feeds all; oh thou! whofe felf-fame mettle (Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is puft) Engenders the black toad, and adder blue, The gilded newt, and eyelefs venom'd worm; With all th' abhorred births below crisp heav'n, Whereon Hyperion's quickning fire doth shine; Yield him, who all thy human fons does hate, From forth thy plenteous bofom, one poor root! Enfear thy fertile and conceptious womb; Let it no more bring out ingrateful man. Go great with tygers, dragons, wolves and bears, Teem with new monfters, whom thy upward face Hath to the marbled manfion all above

Never presented

O, a root

dear thanks!

Dry up thy marrows, veins, and plough-torn leas,
Whereof ingrateful man with liquʼrifh draughts,

And

And morfels unctious, greafes his pure mind,
That from it all confideration flips.

Enter Apemantus.

More man? plague! plague!

Apem. I was directed hither. Men report,
Thou doft affect my manners, and doft use them.
Tim. 'Tis then, because thou dost not keep a dog
Whom I would imitate; confumption catch thee!
Apem. This is in thee a nature but affected,
A poor unmanly melancholy, fprung

From change of fortune. Why this spade? this place?
This flave-like habit, and these looks of care?

Thy flatt'rers yet wear filk, drink wine, lie foft;
Hug their difeas'd perfumes, and have forgot
That ever Timon was. Shame not these weeds, (22)
By putting on the cunning of a carper.

Be thou a flatt'rer now, and seek to thrive

By That which has undone thee; hinge thy knee,
And let his very breath, whom thou'lt obferve,
Blow off thy cap; praise his most vicious ftrain,
And call it excellent. Thou waft told thus:
Thou gav'ft thine ears, like tapfters, that bid welcome
To knaves, and all approachers: 'Tis most just
That thou turn rascal: hadft thou wealth again,
Rafcals fhould have't. Do not affume my likenefs.
Tim. Were I like thee, I'd throw away my felf.
Apem. Thou'ft caft away thy felf, being like thy felf,
So long a mad-man, now a fool. What think'ft thou,
That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain,

(22) Shame not these Woods.] But how did Timon any more fhame the Woods by affuming the Character of a Cynick, than Apemantus did? The Poet certainly meant to make Apemantus say, Don't disgrace this Garb, which thou haft only affected to affume; and to feem the Creature thou art not by Nature, but by the Force and Compulfion of Poverty. We must therefore restore,

Shame not thefe Weeds.

Apemantus, in feveral other Paffages of the Scene, reproaches him with his Change of Garb.

Will put thy fhirt on warm? will these moist trees,
That have out-liv'd the eagle, page thy heels,
And skip when thou point'ft out? will the cold brook,
Candied with ice, cawdle thy morning taste

To cure thy o'er-night's furfeit? Call the creatures,
Whose naked natures live in all the spight

Of wreakful heav'n, whose bare unhoufed trunks,
To the conflicting elements expos'd,

Answer meer nature; bid them Aatter thee;
Oh! thou shalt find

Tim. A fool of thee; depart.

Apem. I love thee better now, than e'er I did.
Tim. I hate thee worse.

Apem. Why?

Tim. Thou flatt'reft mifery.

Apem. I flatter not; but fay, thou art a caytis.
Tim. Why dost thou seek me out?

Apem. To vex thee.

Tim. Always a villain's office, or a fool's. Doft please thy felf in't? (23)

Apem. Ay.

Tim. What! a knave too?

Apem. If thou didft put this fowre cold habit on
To caftigate thy pride, 'twere well; but thou
Doft it enforcedly: thou'dft Courtier be,

(23) Tim. Always a Villain's Office or a Fool's. Doft please thy felf in't?

Apem. Ay.

Tim. What! a knave too?] Mr. Warburton propofes a Correction here, which, tho' it oppofes the Reading of all the printed Copies, has great Jusness and Propriety in it. He would read:

What! and know't too?

The Reasoning of the Text, as it ftands in the Books, is, in fome fort, concluding backward: or rather making a Krave's and Villain's Office different: which, surely, is abfurd. The Correction quite removes the Absurdity, and gives this sensible Rebuke. "What! Doft thou please thy felf in sexing me, "and at the fame time knew it to be the Office of a Villeis or Feel?"

Wert

Wert thou not beggar. Willing mifery
Out-lives incertain pomp; is crown'd before:
The one is filling ftill, never compleat;

The other, at high with: Beft ftates, contentlefs,
Have a diftracted and most wretched being;
Worfe than the worft, content.

Thou shouldft defire to die, being miferable.
Tim. Not by his breath, that is more miferable.
Thou art a flave, whom fortune's tender arm
With favour never clafpt; but bred a dog.
Had'ft thou, like us, from our firft fwath proceeded
Through sweet degrees that this brief world affords,
To fuch, as may the paffive drugs of it

Freely command; thou wouldst have plung'd thy felf
In general riot, melted down thy youth
In different beds of luft, and never learn'd
The icy precepts of respect, but followed
The fagar'd game before thee. But my self,
Who had the world as my confectionary,

The mouths, the tongues, the eyes, the hearts of men
At duty, more than I could frame employments;
That numberlefs upon me fuck, as leaves
Do on the oak; have with one winter's brush
Fall'n from their boughs, and left me open, bare
For every storm that blows. I to bear this,
That never knew but better, is fome burthen.
Thy nature did commence in fuff'rance, time
Hath made thee hard in't. Why shouldst thou hate men?
They never flatter'd thee. What haft thou given?
If thou wilt curfe, thy father, that poor rag,
Must be thy fubject; who in fpight put stuff
To fome the-beggar, and compounded thee
Poor rogue hereditary. Hence! be gone
If thou hadft not been born the worst of men,
Thou hadst been knave and flatterer.
Apem. Art thou proud yet?

Tim. Ay, that I am not thee.

Apem. I, that I was no prodigal.

Tim. I, that I am one now.

Were all the wealth I have, shut up in thee,