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With my more noble meaning, not a man

pass his quarter, or offend the stream
Of regular justice in your city's bounds,
But shall be render'd to your public laws
At heaviest answer.

'Tis most nobly spoken. Alcib. Descend, and keep your words.


[The Senators descend, and open the Gates.]

Enter a Soldier.
Sol. My noble general, Timon is dead;



hem o'the sea :
And on his grave-stone this insculpture, which
With wax I brought away, whose soft impression
Interprets for my poor ignorance.
Alcib. [Reads.] “Here lies a wretched corse, of wretch-

ed soul bereft: Seek not my name: A plague consume you wicked caitiffs

left! Here lie I Timon, who, alive, all living men did hate: Pass by, and curse thy fill; but pass, and stay not here

thy gait.”



my countryman and you." See King Richard II., Act i. sc. 2, note 29.

10 The original reads, “ shall be remedied to your public laws;" which makes stark nonsense. Mr. Dyce, than whom there is no better authority, thinks there is no doubt that render'd is the right word. Others have proposed remitted and remanded.

11 What is here given as one epitaph is really a combination of two, as may be seen by the passage from North's Plutarch quoted in our Introduction. The reader will of course observe the inconsistency between the two couplets, the first saying, “ Seek not my name; the second, Here lie I Timon." How the two got thus thrown together, it were vain to speculate : possibly the Poet was in doubt which to choose, and so copied them both, and then neglected to erase the one which he mea ject. See, however, the Introduction. In the Palace of Pleasure the epitaph is given thus :


to re

These well express in thee thy latter spirits : Though thou abhorr’dst in us our human griefs, Scorn’dst our brain's flow, and those our droplets

which From niggard nature fall; yet rich conceit Taught thee to make vast Neptune weep for aye, On thy low grave, on faults forgiven. Dead Is noble Timon ; of whose memory Hereafter more. - Bring me into your city, And I will use the olive with my sword : Make war breed peace; make peace stint war ;

make each Prescribe to other, as each other's leech.13 Let our drums strike.



“My wretched catife dayes expired now and past,
My carren corps intered here is fast in grounde,
In waltering waves of swelling sea by surges cast :
My name if thou desire, the gods thee doe confounde.


12 Stop

13 Physician.


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Vol. Even he, your wife, this lady, and myself, Are suitors to you.

Act v. Sc. 3.

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