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 poifon
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 honeft,

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 fimiles from fools exhaust their mercy;
Think it a baftard, 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 breaft thro' a windory-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, Act 3.--to one of your receiving

Enough is fhewn; a Cyprus, not a bofom,

Hides my poor heart.

Beaumont and Fletcher in their Scornful Lady.

Lady. Pray put in good words then.

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

B. Jonfon in his Sejanus, fpoken by Agrippina.
Were all Tiberius' body ftuck with eyes,

And ev'ry wall and hanging in my house.

Tran parent as this Lawn I wear.

And in his Every Man out of his Humour.

-She speaks, as fhe goes tir'd, in cobrveb-lawn, light thin

And in bis Every Man in bis Humour.

and fhadow her glory as a miiliner's wife does her wrought

fomacher with a fmoaky Lawn, or a black Cyprus.

H 3

Nor

2

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 thy felf! Speak not, be gone,
Alc. Haft thou gold yet?

I'll take the gold thou giv'ft me, not thy counsel.
Tim. Doft thou, or dost 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 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, allure him, burn him up.
Let your close fire predominate his smoak,

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 still,
Paint till a horse 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 sharp fhins,
And mar mens fpurring. Crack the lawyer's voice,

(26) And to make a 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 villainy; he now fhews that it has ftill a greater force, and can even turn from vice to the practice, or, at leaft, the femblance of virtue. We must therefore read, to reftore fenfe to our author,

And to make whole a bawd.

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

That

That he may never more false title plead,

Nor found his quillets fhrilly. Hoar the Flamen,
That fcolds against the quality of flesh,

And not believes himself.

Down with the nofe,

Down with it flat; take the bridge quite away

Of him, that his particular to foresee

[bald,

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

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.
you damn others, and let this damn you,

Do

And ditches grave you all!

Both. More counsel with more money, bounteous Timon. Tim. More whore, more mifchief, firft; I've given you earneft.

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.

Alc. I never did thee harm.

Tim. Yes, thou spok'st well of me.

Alc. Call'ft 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

Whose womb unmeasurable, and infinite breast
Teems, and feeds all; oh thou! whose self-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 crifp heav'n,
Whereon Hyperion's quick'ning fire doth fhine;
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,
H. 4

Teem

4

Teem with new monsters, whom thy upward face
Hath to the marbled manfion all above

Never prefented-O, a root-dear thanks!

Dry up thy marrows, veins, and plough-torn leas, (27)
Whereof ingrateful man with liquʼrifh draughts,

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

Enter Apemantus.

More man? plague, plague!-

Apem. I was directed hither. Men report,
Thou dost affect my manners, and doft use them.
Tim. 'Tis then, becaufe 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 fpade? this place
This flave-like habit, and thefe looks of care?

Thy flatt'rers yet wear filk, drink wine, lye foft;

Hug their difeas'd perfumes, and have forgot

That ever Timon was. Shame not these weeds, (28)

By

(27) Dry up thy marrows, veins, and plough-torn leas.] Mr. Warburton thinks, the uniformity of the metaphor requires that we should read,

Dry up thy harrow'd veins, and plough-torn leas.

'Tis certain, the verfe is rendered much more beautiful by this reading; but as, unctious morfels following, by marrows the poet might mean what we call the fat of the land, I have not ventured to infert the conjecture into the text.

(28) Shame not thefe woods,] But how did Timon any more shame the woods by affuming the character of a cynick, than Apemantus did? The poet certainly meant to make Apemantus fay, Don't difgrace 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 reftore,

-Shame not thefe weeds.

Apemantus in feveral other paffages of the fcene reproaches him with hi, change of garb.

-Why this fpade? this place?

This flave-like habit?

-Do not affume my likeness.

If thou did't put this fewer cold habit on

Το

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 moft vicious ftrain,
And call it excellent. Thou waft told thus :
Thou gav't thine ears, like tapfters, that bid welcome
To knaves, and all approachers: 'Tis moft juft
Thatthou turn rafcal: hadft thou wealth again,
Rafcals fhould have't. Do not affume my likeness.
Tim. Were I like thee, I'd throw away myself.

Apem. Thou'ft caft away thyself, being like thyfelf,
So long a madman, now a fool. What, think'ft thou,
That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain,
Will put thy fhirt on warm will these moift trees
That have out-liv'd the eagle, page thy heels,
And fkip when thou point't out? will the cold brook,
Candied with ice, cawdle thy morning tafte

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

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

Anfwer mere nature; bid them flatter 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 caitiff.
Tim. Why doft thou feek me out ?

Apem. To vex thee.

Tim. Always a villain's office, or a fool's.

Doft please thyfelf in't? (29)

To caftigate thy pride, 'twere well; but thou
Do't it enforcedly: thou'dft courtier be,

Wert thou not beggar.

(29) Tim. Always a villain's office, or a fool's.

Doft pleafe thyself in't?

Apem. Ay,

Apem.

Mr, Warburton,