Who feeks for better of thee, fauce his palate
With thy moft operant poison!-What is here?
Gold? yellow, glittering, precious gold?.
No, gods, I am no idle votarift.

Roots, you clear heav'ns! thus much of this will make
Black, white; foul, fair; wrong, right;

Bafe, noble; old, young; coward, valiant.

You gods! why this? what this? you gods! why, this
Will lug your priefts and fervants from your fides :
Pluck ftout mens pillows from below their heads.
This yellow flave

Will knit and break religions; bless th' accurs'd;
Make the hoar leprofy ador'd; place thieves,
And give them title, knee, and approbation,
With fenators on the bench: this is it,

That makes the wrappen'd widow wed again;
She, whom the spittle-house and ulcerous fores
Would caft the gorge at, this embalms and spices
To th' April day again. Come, damned earth,
Thou common whore of mankind, that putt'ft 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, (ftrong thief)
When gouty keepers of thee cannot ftand.

Nay, ftay thou out for earnest. [Keeping fome gold. Enter Alcibiades with drum and fife in warlike manner, and Phrynia and Timandra.

Ale. What art thou there? speak.

Tim. A beaft, as thou art. Cankers gnaw thy heart,

For fhewing me again the eyes of man!

Alc. What is thy name? is man fo hateful to thee,

That art thyfelf a man?

Tim. I am Mifanthropos, and hate mankind.

For thy part, I do with thou wert a dog,

That I might love thee fomething.

Alc. I know thee well:

But in thy fortunes am unlearn'd, and ftrange.

Tim. I know thee too, and more than that I know thee,

I

I not defire 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 fword,
For all her cherubin look.

Phry. Thy lips rot off!

Tim. I will not kifs thee, then the rot returns To thine own lips again.

Alc. 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 funs to borrow of.

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

Alc. What is it, Timon?

If

Tim. Promise me friendship, but perform none. thou wilt not promife, 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 fome fort of thy miseries.
Tim. Thou faw'ft them when I had profperity.
Alc. I fee them now, then was a bleffed time.

Tim. As thine is now, held with a brace of harlots. Timan. Is this th' Athenian minion, whom the world Voic'd fo regardfully?

Tim. Art thou Timandra?

Timan. Yes.

Tim. Be a whore ftill: they love thee not, that ufe thee: Give them difeafes, leaving with thee their luft: Make use of thy falt hours, season the slaves For tubs and baths, bring down the rose-cheek'd youth To th' tub-faft, and the diet. (24)

Timan.

(24) To the fubfaft, and the diet.] One might make a very long and vain fearch, yet not be able to meet with this prepofterous word fubfat, which has notwithstanding pafs'd current with all the editors. The author is alluding to the Lues Venerea, and its effects. At that time, the cure of it was perform'd either by Guaiacum, or Mercurial unctions: and in both cafes the patient was kept up very warm and clofe; that in the first application the fweat might be promoted; and H 2 leaft,

Timan. Hang thee, monfter!

Alc. Pardon him, sweet Timandra, for his wits
Are drown'd and loft in his calamities.

I have but little gold of late, brave Timon,
The want whereof doth daily make revolt
In my penurious band. I heard and griev'd,
How curfed Athens, mindless of thy worth,
Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbour ftates,
But for thy fword and fortune, trod upon them-
Tim. I pr'ythee, 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.

Alc. When I have laid proud Athens on a heap-
Tim. Warr'ft thou 'gainst Athens ?

Alc. Ay, Timon, and have caufe.

Tim. The gods confound them all then in thy conqueft, And, after, thee, when thou haft conquered!

Alc. Why me, Timon?

leaft, in the other, he should take cold, which was fatal.

"The

regimen for the courfe of Guaiacum (lays Dr. Friend in his bift. of “phyfick, Vol. 2. p. 380.) was at firft ftrangely circumftantial; and "fo rigorous, that the patient was put into a dungeon in order to

make him fweat; and in that manner, as Fallopius expreffes it, the bones and the very man himself was macerated.' And as for the unction, it was fometimes continued for thirty-feven days; (as he obferves, p. 375) and during this time there was neceffarily an extraordinary abflinence requir'd. Mr. Warburton. Shakespeare himself, I remember, in another of his plays, alludes to the cultom of this tub difcipline.

Meaf. for Meaf. Act 3. where the clown is fpeaking of the bawd; Truth, Sir, fhe hath eaten up all her beef, and fhe is herfelf in the tub. And Beaumont and Fletcher in the Knight of the Burning Pefile; Prifners of mine, whom I in diet keep,

Send lower down into the cave,

And in a tub, that's heated fmoaking hot,
There may they find them, &c.

And afterwards, in the fame play, fome of these pin'd prifoners are produc'd, complaining of their tub-faveat, and spare-diet. But enough of thefe unfavoury proofs.

Tim. That by killing of villains

Thou waft 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 fome high-vic'd city hang his poison
In the fick air: Let not thy fword skip one,
Pity not honour'd age for his white beard,
He is an ufurer. Strike me the matron,
It is her habit only that is honest,

Herfelf's a bawd. Let not the virgin's cheek
Make foft thy trenchant fword; for thofe milk-paps,
That through the window-lawn bore at mens eyes, (25)
Are not within the leaf of pity writ;

Set them down horrible traitors. Spare not the babe,
Whofe dimpled fmiles from fools exhauft their mercy;
Think it a bastard, whom the oracle

Hath doubtfully pronounc'd thy throat fhall cut,
And mince it fans remorfe. Swear against objects,
Put armour on thine ears, and on thine eyes;
Whofe proof, nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes,

(25) That thro' the window-barn bore at men's eyes.] I cannot for my heart imagine, what idea our wife editors had of a virgin's breast thro' a window-barn: which, I am fatisfied, must be a corrupt reading. In short, the poet is alluding to the decent cuftom in his time of the women covering their necks and bofom either with Lawn, or Cyprus; both which being transparent, the poet beautifully calls it the window-lawn.

Vid. Twelfth night, A 3. -to one of your receiving

Enough is fhewn; a Cyprus, not a bosom,

Hides my poor heart.

Beaumont and Fletcher in their Scornful Lady.

Lady. Pray, put in good words then.

El. Love. The worlt are good enough for such a trifle, such a proud
piece of cobweb-lawn.

B. forfon in his Sejanus, poken by Agrippina.
Were all Tiberius' body fuck with eyes,
And ev'ry wall and hanging in my house
Transparent as this Lawn I wear.

And in his Every Man out of bis Humour.

-She fpeaks, as he goes tir'd, in cobweb-lawn, light thin:

And in his Every Man bis Humour.

and shadow her glory as a milliner's wife does her wrought

fomacher with a fmoaky Lawn, or a black Cyprus.

H 3

Nor

Nor fight of priest in holy veftments bleeding,
Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay thy foldiers.
Make large confufion; and thy fury spent,
Confounded be thyfelf! Speak not, be gone.
Alc. Haft thou gold yet?

I'll take the gold thou giv'ft me, not thy counfel.
Tim.Doft thou, or doft thou not, heav'n's curfe upon thee!
Both. Give us fome gold, good Timon: haft thou more?
Tim. Enough to make a whore forfwear her trade,
And to make whole a bawd. (26) Hold up, you fluts,
Your aprons mountant; you're not othable,
Although, I know, you'll fwear; terribly swear
Into ftrong fhudders, and to heavenly 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, allure him, burn him up.
Let your close 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 burdens of the dead,

(Some that were hang'd, no matter :-)

Wear them, betray with them; and whore on ftill.

Paint till a horfe may mire upon your face;

A

pox of wrinkles!

Both. Well, more gold-what then?

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,

(26) And to make a whore a bard.] 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 ftill a greater force, and can ever turn from vice to the practice, or, at leaft, the femblance of virtue. We must therefore read, to reftore tenfe to our author,

And to make whole a bard.

i. e. not only make her quit her calling, but thereby reftore her to

reputation.

Mr. Warburton.
That