Enter ALCIBIADES, with drum and fife, in warlike manner; and PHRYNIA and TIMANDRAALCIBIADES. What art thou there? Speak. TIMON. A beast, as thou art. The canker gnaw thy heart For showing me again the eyes of man! ALCIBIADES. What is thy name? Is man so hateful to thee That art thyself a man? TIMON. I am Misanthropos, and hate mankind. For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog, That I might love thee something. ALCIBIADES. I know thee well; But in thy fortunes am unlearn'd and strange. TIMON. I know thee too; and more than that I know 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. PHRYNIA. Thy lips rot off! TIMON. I will not kiss thee; then the rot returns To thine own lips again. ALCIBIADES. How came the noble Timon to this change? TIMON. As the moon does, by wanting light to give. But then renew I could not, like the moon; There were no suns to borrow of. ALCIBIADES. Noble Timon, What friendship may I do thee? TIMON. None, but to Maintain my opinion. ALCIBIADES. What is it, Timon? TIMON. Promise me friendship, but perform none. If thou wilt not promise, the gods plague thee, for thou art man! If thou dost perform, confound thee, for thou art a man! ALCIBIADES. I have heard in some sort of thy miseries. TIMON. Thou saw'st them when I had prosperity. ALCIBIADES. I see them now; then was a blessed time. TIMON. As thine is now, held with a brace of harlots. TIMANDRA. Is this th' Athenian minion whom the world Voic'd so regardfully? TIMON. Art thou Timandra? TIMANDRA. Yes. TIMON. Be a whore still; they love thee not that use thee. Give them diseases, leaving with thee their lust. Make use of thy salt hours. Season the slaves For tubs and baths; bring down rose-cheek'd youth To the tub-fast and the diet. TIMANDRA. Hang thee, monster! ALCIBIADES. 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 have heard, and griev'd, How cursed Athens, mindless of thy worth,Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbour states, But for thy sword and fortune, trod upon them- TIMON. I prithee beat thy drum and get thee gone. ALCIBIADES. I am thy friend, and pity thee, dear Timon. TIMON. How dost thou pity him whom thou dost trouble? I had rather be alone. ALCIBIADES. Why, fare thee well; Here is some gold for thee. TIMON. Keep it: I cannot eat it. ALCIBIADES. When I have laid proud Athens on a heap- TIMON. War'st thou 'gainst Athens? ALCIBIADES. Ay, Timon, and have cause. TIMON. The gods confound them all in thy conquest; And thee after, when thou hast conquer'd! ALCIBIADES. Why me, Timon? TIMON. That by killing of villains Thou wast 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 some high-vic'd city hang his poison In the sick air; let not thy sword skip one. Pity not honour'd age for his white beard: He is an usurer. Strike me the counterfeit matron: It is her habit only that is honest, Herself's a bawd. Let not the virgin's cheek Make soft thy trenchant sword; for those milk paps 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.
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