תמונות בעמוד

Gold? yellow, glittering, precious gold ?
No, Gods, I am no idle votarist.
Roots, you clear heav'ns! thus much of this will make
Black, white; fair, foul ; wrong, right;
Base, noble; old, young; coward, valiant.
You Gods ! why this? what this ? you Gods! why,

Will lug your priests and servants from your sides :
Pluck ftout men's pillows from below their heads.
This yellow flave
Will knit and break religions; bless th' accurs'd;
Make the hoar leprosy ador'd; place thieves,
And give them title, knee, and approbation,
With senators on the bench: this is it,
That makes the waped widow wed again;
She whom the spittle house, and ulcerous fores
Would cast the gorge at, this embalms and spices
To thApril day again. Come, damned earth,
Thou common whore of mankind, that putt'st 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—thou'lt go, (strong thief) When gouty keepers of thee cannot stand. Nay, stay thou out for earnest. [Keeping some gold.

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Enter Alcibiades with drum and fife in warlike man

ner, and Phrynia and Timandra. Alc. HAT art thou there? speak.

Tim. A beast, as thou art. Cankers gnaw

thy heart, For shewing me again the eyes of man!

Alc. 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.

Alc. 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.

Phry. Thy lips rot off!

Tim. I will not kiss thee, then the Rot returns To thine own lips again.

Alce , 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.

Alc. Noble Timon, what friendship may I do thee ?
Tim. None, but to maintain my opinion.
Alc. 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 art a man !

Alc. I've heard in some sort of thy miseries.
Tim. Thou saw'lt them when I had prosperity.
Alc. I see them now, then was a blessed time.
Tim. As thine is now, held with a brace of harlots.

Timan. Is this th' Athenian minion, whom the world Voic'd so regardfully? ;'

* I am Misanthropos, —-) Moliere has Wrote a fine Comedy, called from the Hero of the Piece, The Misanthrope, which our Wycherley has imilated, calling it, The Plain-dealer. Now, in fa&, it happens, that Moliere's Misanthrope is but a Plein-dealer, and Wycherley's Plain-dealer is a dire& Misanthrope.



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Tini. Art thou Timandra?
Timan. Yes...!
Tim. Be a whore ftill: they love thee not, that

use thee :
Give them diseases, leaving with thee their luft :
Make use of thy salt hours, season the slaves
For tubs and baths, bring down the rose-cheek'd youth
To th' Tub-fast, and the diet.

Timan. Hang thee, monster!"

Alc. 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 hear'd and griev'd, How curled Athens, mindless of thy worth, Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbour states, But for thy sword and fortune, trod upon them

Tim. I prythee beat thy drum, and get thee gone. Alc. I am thy friend, and pity thee, dear Timon. Tim. How dost thou pity him, whom thou doft

trouble? I'ad rather be alone.

Alc. Why, fare thee well,
Here's gold for thee.

Tim. Keep it, I cannot eat it.
Alt. When I have laid proud Athens on a heap-
Tim. Warr'st thou 'gainst Athens ?
Alc. Ay, Timon, and have causei
Tin. The Gods confound them all then in thy

And, after, Thee, when thou haft conquered !

Alc. Why me, Timon?

Tim. That by killing of villains
Thou wast born to conquer my Country.
Put up thy gold. Go on, here's gold, go on ;
Be as a planetary plague, when Jove
Will o'er some high-vic'd city hang his poison
In the sick air : Let not thy sword skip one,

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Pity not honourd'áge for his white beard,
He is an usurer. Strike' me the 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-lawn bore at men's

Are not within the leaf of pity writ;
Set them down horrible traitors. Spare not the babe,
Whose dimpled smiles. 'from fools 'extort their

mercy ;
Think it a bastard, whom the oracle
Hath doubtfully pronounc'd thy throat shall cut,
And mince it sans remorse.

Swear against obje&s, Put armour on thine ears, and on thine eyes ; Whose proof, nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes, • Nor fight of priest in holy vestments bleeding, -- Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay thy foldiers.

Make large confufion; and, thy fury spent,
Confounded be thyself! speak not, be gone.

Alc. Haft thou gold yet?
I'll take the gold thou giv'st me, not thy counsel.
Tin. Dost thou, or doft thou not, heav'n's curse

thee! Both. Give us some gold, good Timon : haft thou

more? Tim. Enough to make a whore forfwear her trade, And to make whole a bawd. Hold up, you Nuts, Your aprons mountant; you're not othable, Although, I know, you'll swear; terribly swear Into strong shudders, and to heav'nly agues, Th' immortal Gods that hear you. Spare your oaths: I'll trust to your conditions, 'be whores ftill: And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you,

1 Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up. Let your close fire predominate his smoke, And be no turn-coats': yet may your pain's fix

months Bé quite contrary. Make false hair, and thatch


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Your poor thin roofs with burdens of the dead,
(Some that were hang'd, no matter : --)
Wear them, betray with them; and whore on still:
Paint 'till a horse

upon your

face ; A pox of wrinkles !

Both. Well, more gold -what then ?
Believe, that we'll do any thing for gold.

Tim. Consumptions fow,
In hollow bones of man, ftrike 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 fhrilly. 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 forefend,
Smells from the gen'ral weal. Make curl'd-pate

ruffians bald,
And let the unscarr'd braggarts of the war
Derive some pain from you. Plague all ;
That your activity may defeat, and quell
The source of all 'eredion.-There's more gold.

damn others, and let this damn you, And ditches grave

all !

Boih. More counsel with more money, bounteous
Tim. More whore, more mischief, first;, I've given

Alc. Strike up the drum tow'rds Athens; farewel,

Timon :
If I thrive well, I'll visit thee again.

Tim. If I hope well, I'll never see thee more.
Alc. I never did thee harm.
Tim. Yes, thou spok’st well of me.
Alc. Call'st thou that barm?

Tin. 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.


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