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More than you rob: take wealth and lives together;
[Timon retires to his case. 3 Thief. He has almost charined me from my profession, by persuading me to it.
1 Thief. 'Tis in the malice of mankind, that he tbus advises us; not to have us thrive in our mys. tery.
2 Thief. I'll believe him as an enemy, and give over my trade.
1 Thief. Let us first see peace in Athens: There is no time so miserable, but a man may be true.
[Ezeunt Thieves. Enter Flavius. Flao. O you gods! Is yon despis'd and ruinous man my lord ? Full of decay and failiog? O monument And wonder of good deeds evilly bestow'd! What an alteration of honourt has Desperate want made! What viler thing upon the earth, than friends,
• Compost, manure.
+ An alteration of honour is an alteration of an honourable state to a state of disgrace.
Who can bring noblest minds to basest ends!
Timon comes forward from his cate.
Have you forgot me, sir ? Tim. Wliy dost ask that? I have forgot all men; Then, if thou grant'st thou'rt man, I have forgot thee.
Flav. An honest poor servant of yours.
The gods are witness, Ne'er did poor steward wear a truer grief For his undone lord, than mine eyes for you. Tim. What, dost thou weep?Come nearer ;
then I love thee, Because thou art a woman, and disclaim'st Flinty mankind; whose eyes do never give, But thorough lust, and laughter. Pity's sleeping: Strange times, that weep with laughivg, not with
weeping ! Flao. I beg of you to know me, good my lord, To accept my grief, and whilst this poor wealth lasts, To entertain me as your steward still.
Tim. Had I a steward so true, so just, and now So comfortable? It almost turns My dangerous nature wild. Let me behold Thy face.-Surely, this man was born of woman. Forgive my general and exceptless rashness, Perpetual-sober gods! I do proclaim One honest man,-mistake me not,-but one;
* How happily
than wise ;
No more, I pray,--and he is a steward.
Flav. No, my most worthy master, in whose breast
feast : Suspect still comes where an estate is least. That which I show, heaven knows, is merely love, Duty and zeal to your unmatched mind, Care of your food and living: and, believe it, My most honour'd lord, For any benefit that points to me, Either in hope, or present, I'd exchange For this one wish, That you had power and wealth To requite me, by making rich yourself.
Tim. Look thee, 'tis so!- Thou singly honest man, Here take :-the gods out of my misery Have sent thee treasure. Go, live rich, and happy: But thus condition'd; Thou shalt build from men* ; Hate all, curse all: show charity to none; But let the famish'd fesh slide from the bone, Ere thou relieve the beggar: give to dogs What thou deny'st to men; let prisons swallow them, Debts wither them: Be men like blasted woods, And may diseases lick up their false bloods ! And so, farewell, and thrive.
* Away from human habitation.
0, let me stay, And comfort you, my master. Tim.
If thou hat'st Curses, stay not; fly, whilst thou'rt bless'd and free: Ne'er see thou man, and let me ne'er see thee.
The same. Before Timon's cade.
Enter Poet and Painter; Timon behind, unseen.
Pain. As I took note of the place, it cannot be far where he abides.
Poet. What's to be thought of him? Does the rumour hold for true, that he is so full of gold?
Pain. Certain : Alcibiades reports it; Phrynia and T'imandra had gold of him: he likewise enriched poor straggling soldiers with great quautity: 'Tis said, he gave unto his steward a mighty sum.
Poet. Then this breaking of his has been but a try for his friends.
Pain. Nothing else: you shall see him a palm in Athens again, and flourish with the bighest. Therefore, 'tis not amiss, we tender our loves to him, in this supposed distress of his : it will show honestly in us; and is very likely to load our purposes with what they travel for, if it be a just and true report that goes of his having.
Poet. What have you now to present unto him?
Pain. Nothing at this time but my visitation: only I will promise him an excellent piece.
Poet. I must serve him so too; tell him of an intent that's coming toward him.
Pain. Good as the best. Promisivg is the very
air o'the time: it opens the eyes of expectation: performance is ever the duller for his act; and, but in the plainer and simpler kind of people, the deed of saying* is quite out of use. To promise is most courtly and fashionable: performance is a kind of will and testament, which argues a great sickness in his judgement that makes it.
Tim. Excellent workman! Thou canst not paiut a man so bad as is thyself. · Poet. I am thinking, what I shall say I have
provided for him : It must be a personating of himself: a satire against the softness of prosperity; with a discovery of the infinite flatteries, that follow youth and opulency.
Tim. Must thou deeds stand for a villain in thine own work? Wilt thou whip thine own faults in other men? Do so, I have gold for thee.
Poet. Nay, let's seek him :
gold, That he is worshipp'd in a baser temple, Than where swine feed! 'Tis thou that rigg'st the bark, and plough'st tho
Settlest admired reverence in a slave :
(Advancing. Poet. Hail, worthy Timon ! Pain.
Our late noble master. Tim. Have I once liv'd to see two honest men? Poet. Sir,
• The doing of that we said we would do.