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Gold? yellow, glittering, precious gold ?
'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.
W A gnaw
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.
Alc. I know thee well :
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:
Alc. Noble Timon, what friendship may I do thee ?
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.
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.
Tini. Art thou Timandra?
use thee :
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,
Tim. Keep it, I cannot eat it.
Alc. Why me, Timon?
Tim. That by killing of villains
Pity not honourd'áge for his white beard,
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,
Alc. Haft thou gold yet?
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
Your poor thin roofs with burdens of the dead,
face ; A pox of wrinkles !
Both. Well, more gold -what then ?
Tim. Consumptions fow,
damn others, and let this damn you, And ditches grave
Tim. If I hope well, I'll never see thee more.
Tin. Men daily find it. Get thee hence, away.