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That through the window bars bore at men's eyes

Are not within the leaf of pity writ,

But set them down horrible traitors. Spare not the babe

Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their mercy;

Think it a bastard whom the oracle

Hath doubtfully pronounc'd thy throat shall cut,

And mince it sans remorse. Swear against abjects;

Put armour on thine ears and on thine eyes,

Whose proof nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes,

Nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding,

Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay thy soldiers.

Make large confusion; and, thy fury spent,

Confounded be thyself! Speak not, be gone.

ALCIBIADES.

Hast thou gold yet? I'll take the gold thou givest me,

Not all thy counsel.

TIMON.

Dost thou, or dost thou not, heaven's curse upon thee!

PHRYNIA AND TIMANDRA.

Give us some gold, good Timon.

Hast thou more?

TIMON.

Enough to make a whore forswear her trade,

And to make whores a bawd. Hold up, you sluts,

Your aprons mountant; you are not oathable,

Although I know you'll swear, terribly swear,

Into strong shudders and to heavenly agues,

Th' immortal gods that hear you. Spare your oaths;

I'll trust to your conditions. Be whores still;

And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you-

Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up;

Let your close fire predominate his smoke,

And be no turncoats. Yet may your pains six months

Be quite contrary! And thatch your poor thin roofs

With burdens of the dead- some that were hang'd,

No matter. Wear them, betray with them. Whore still;

Paint till a horse may mire upon your face.

A pox of wrinkles!

PHRYNIA AND TIMANDRA.

Well, more gold. What then?

Believe't that we'll do anything for gold.

TIMON.

Consumptions sow

In hollow bones of man; strike 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 shrilly. 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 foresee,

Smells from the general 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 erection. There's more gold.

Do you damn others, and let this damn you,

And ditches grave you all!

PHRYNIA AND TIMANDRA.

More counsel with more money, bounteous Timon.

TIMON.

More whore, more mischief first; I have given you earnest.

ALCIBIADES.

Strike up the drum towards Athens. Farewell, Timon;

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

TIMON.

If I hope well, I'll never see thee more.

ALCIBIADES.

I never did thee harm.

TIMON.

Yes, thou spok'st well of me.

ALCIBIADES.

Call'st thou that harm?

TIMON.

Men daily find it. Get thee away, and take

Thy beagles with thee.

ALCIBIADES.

We but offend him. Strike.

Drum beats. Exeunt all but TIMON

TIMON.

That nature, being sick of man's unkindness,

Should yet be hungry! Common mother, thou, [Digging]

Whose womb unmeasurable and infinite breast

Teems and feeds all; whose self-same mettle,

Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is puff'd,

Engenders the black toad and adder blue,

The gilded newt and eyeless venom'd worm,

With all th' abhorred births below crisp heaven

Whereon Hyperion's quick'ning fire doth shine-

Yield him, who all thy human sons doth hate,

From forth thy plenteous bosom, one poor root!

Ensear thy fertile and conceptious womb,

Let it no more bring out ingrateful man!

Go great with tigers, dragons, wolves, and bears;

Teem with new monsters whom thy upward face

Hath to the marbled mansion all above

Never presented!- O, a root! Dear thanks!-

Dry up thy marrows, vines, and plough-torn leas,

Whereof ingrateful man, with liquorish draughts

And morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind,

That from it all consideration slips-

Enter APEMANTUS

More man? Plague, plague!

APEMANTUS.

I was directed hither. Men report

Thou dost affect my manners