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O blessed breeding sun, draw from the earth Rotten humidity; below thy sister’s orb Infect the air! Twinn’d brothers of one womb, Whose procreation, residence, and birth, Scarce is dividant, touch them with several fortunes; The greater scorns the lesser: not nature, To whom all sores lay siege, can bear great fortune, But by contempt of nature. Raise me this beggar, and deny ’t that lord; The senator shall bear contempt hereditary, The beggar native honour. It is the pasture lards the rother’s sides, The want that makes him lean. Who dares, who dares, In purity of manhood stand upright, And say ’This man’s a flatterer?’ if one be, So are they all; for every grise of fortune Is smooth’d by that below: the learned pate Ducks to the golden fool: all is oblique; There’s nothing level in our cursed natures, But direct villany. Therefore, be abhorr’d All feasts, societies, and throngs of men! His semblable, yea, himself, Timon disdains: Destruction fang mankind! Earth, yield me roots!
Oh, blessed sun that gives life, draw from the earth The rotten moisture; below your sister’s orb Infect the air! Twin brothers born from the same womb, Whose creation, home, and birth, Are barely separated, touch them with different fates; The greater one scorns the lesser: not even nature, To whom all wounds are open, can handle great fortune, Except through contempt of nature. Raise this beggar up, and deny that lord; The senator shall inherit contempt, While the beggar earns native honor. It’s the rich pasture that fattens the cow’s sides, The lack of it that makes him thin. Who dares, who dares, Stand with true manhood, upright, And say ’This man’s a flatterer?’ if one is, Then so are they all; for every stroke of fortune Is smoothed over by those below: the learned head Bows to the golden fool: everything is crooked; There’s nothing straight in our cursed nature, But pure villainy. Therefore, be disgusted By all feasts, gatherings, and crowds of men! His equal, yes, even himself, Timon disdains: Destruction, bite mankind! Earth, give me roots!
Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate With thy most operant poison! What is here? Gold? yellow, glittering, precious gold? No, gods, I am no idle votarist: roots, you clear heavens! Thus much of this will make black white, foul fair, Wrong right, base noble, old young, coward valiant. Ha, you gods! why this? what this, you gods? Why, this Will lug your priests and servants from your sides, Pluck stout men’s pillows from below their heads: This yellow slave Will knit and break religions, bless the accursed, Make the hoar leprosy adored, place thieves And give them title, knee and approbation With senators on the bench: this is it That makes the wappen’d widow wed again; She, whom the spital-house and ulcerous sores Would cast the gorge at, this embalms and spices To the April day again. Come, damned earth, Thou common whore of mankind, that put’st odds Among the route of nations, I will make thee Do thy right nature.
Who seeks something better from you, poison his taste With your most potent venom! What’s this? Gold? Yellow, glittering, precious gold? No, gods, I am no idle worshiper: roots, you clear heavens! This much of gold will turn black to white, foul to fair, Wrong to right, base to noble, old to young, coward to brave. Ha, you gods! Why is this? What is this, you gods? Why, this Will drag your priests and servants away from you, Take strong men’s pillows from under their heads: This yellow slave Will break and remake religions, bless the damned, Make the old disease adored, place thieves And give them title, respect, and approval Alongside senators on the bench: this is what Makes the ragged widow marry again; She, whom the hospital and festering sores Would turn away, this embalms and spices her Back to the liveliness of spring. Come, cursed earth, You common prostitute of mankind, who divides The nations, I will make you Do your true nature.
Ha! a 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.
Ha! A drum? You’re quick, But I’ll bury you: you’ll go, strong thief, When the gout-ridden keepers of you can’t stand. No, stay out for real.
What art thou there? speak.
Who are you there? Speak.
A beast, as thou art. The canker gnaw thy heart, For showing me again the eyes of man!
A beast, just like you. May the disease eat at your heart, For showing me again the face of man!
What is thy name? Is man so hateful to thee, That art thyself a man?
What’s your name? Is man so hateful to you, That you, yourself, are a man?
I am Misanthropos, and hate mankind. For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog, That I might love thee something.
I am Misanthropos, and I hate mankind. As for you, I wish you were a dog, So I might love you a little.
I know thee well; But in thy fortunes am unlearn’d and strange.
I know you well; But I’m unfamiliar with your fortunes.
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 cherubim look.
I know you too; and more than that, I know you, I don’t want to know more. Follow your drum; Paint the ground with man’s blood, red, red: Religious rules and civil laws are harsh; So what should war be? This evil prostitute of yours Has more destruction in her than your sword, No matter how innocent she looks.
Thy lips rot off!
Your lips will rot off!
I will not kiss thee; then the rot returns To thine own lips again.
I won’t kiss you; then the rot comes back To your own lips again.
How came the noble Timon to this change?
How did the noble Timon end up like this?
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.
Like the moon does, by losing the light to give: But I couldn’t renew myself like the moon; There were no suns to borrow from.
Noble Timon, What friendship may I do thee?
Noble Timon, What can I do for you as a friend?
None, but to Maintain my opinion.
Nothing, except to Support my opinion.
What is it, Timon?
What is it, Timon?
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!
Promise me friendship, but don’t keep it: if you won’t promise, may the gods punish you, because you’re a man! If you do keep it, may you be ruined, because you’re a man!
I have heard in some sort of thy miseries.
I’ve heard about some of your troubles.
Thou saw’st them, when I had prosperity.
You saw them, when I had everything.
I see them now; then was a blessed time.
I see them now; back then was a blessed time.
As thine is now, held with a brace of harlots.
Just like yours is now, spent with a pair of prostitutes.
Is this the Athenian minion, whom the world Voiced so regardfully?
Is this the Athenian favorite, whom everyone Talked about so highly?
Art thou Timandra?
Are you Timandra?
Yes.
Yes.
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-cheeked youth To the tub-fast and the diet.
Keep being a prostitute: the people who use you don’t love you; Give them diseases, and leave their lust with you. Use your time well: make the slaves ready For tubs and baths; bring down youthful beauty To the tub and the diet.
Hang thee, monster!
Go to hell, monster!
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 grieved, How cursed Athens, mindless of thy worth, Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbour states, But for thy sword and fortune, trod upon them,--
Forgive him, sweet Timandra; his mind Is overwhelmed and lost in his troubles. I don’t have much gold lately, brave Timon, And the lack of it makes my poor soldiers rebel More and more: I’ve heard, and I’m saddened, How cursed Athens, forgetting your worth, Forgetting your great deeds, when neighboring states, Only because of your sword and fortune, trampled them down,--
I prithee, beat thy drum, and get thee gone.
Please, beat your drum and go away.
I am thy friend, and pity thee, dear Timon.
I’m your friend, and I pity you, dear Timon.
How dost thou pity him whom thou dost trouble? I had rather be alone.
How can you pity someone you’re making miserable? I’d rather be alone.
Why, fare thee well: Here is some gold for thee.
Well, farewell: Here’s some gold for you.
Keep it, I cannot eat it.
Keep it, I can’t eat it.
When I have laid proud Athens on a heap,--
When I’ve crushed proud Athens into ruins,--
Warr’st thou ’gainst Athens?
Will you fight against Athens?
Ay, Timon, and have cause.
Yes, Timon, and I have a good reason.
The gods confound them all in thy conquest; And thee after, when thou hast conquer’d!
May the gods ruin them all in your victory; And may they ruin you too, after you’ve conquered!
Why me, Timon?
Why me, 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-viced 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 pronounced thy throat shall cut, And mince it sans remorse: swear against objects; 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 soldiers: Make large confusion; and, thy fury spent, Confounded be thyself! Speak not, be gone.
Because, by killing villains, You were born to destroy my country. Take your gold back: go on,--here’s gold,--go on; Be like a plague sent by the planets, when Jupiter Sends his poison down to some city full of sin In the sickly air: don’t let your sword miss anyone: Don’t feel sorry for old age because of his white beard; He’s a moneylender: strike the fake matron; It’s just her appearance that’s virtuous, She’s really a prostitute: don’t let the virgin’s cheek Make your sharp sword slow down; because those breasts, That once lured men’s eyes through the window-bars, Are not worthy of pity, But should be called horrible traitors: don’t spare the baby, Whose innocent smile fools people into wasting their mercy; Think of it as a bastard, whom the prophecy Has told you your throat will cut, And do it without regret: curse everything in your way; Cover your ears and eyes with armor; Neither the cries of mothers, maids, or babies, Nor the sight of priests in holy clothes bleeding, Shall move you. There’s gold to pay soldiers: Cause total chaos; and when your rage is spent, May you be utterly defeated! Don’t speak, just go.
Hast thou gold yet? I’ll take the gold thou givest me, Not all thy counsel.
Do you have gold now? I’ll take the gold you Give me, But not your advice.
Dost thou, or dost thou not, heaven’s curse upon thee!
Do you, or do you not, want heaven’s curse On you?
Give us some gold, good Timon: hast thou more?
Give us some gold, good Timon: do you have more?
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 The 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 burthens 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!
Enough to make a prostitute quit her job, And to make pimps out of whores. Get up, you sluts, Your aprons are rising: you can’t be sworn to, Even though I know you’ll swear, swear terribly And make the gods shudder in anger, The immortal gods who hear you,--forget your oaths, I’ll trust your actions: keep being whores; And he whose pious words try to save you, Let him burn in your lust; let your passion burn him up; Let your fire smother his smoke, And never change sides: though your suffering, six months, Be the opposite of what you expect: and cover your poor, thin roofs With the bodies of the dead;--some who were hanged, Doesn’t matter: wear them, betray with them: still be whores; Paint your faces until a horse can get stuck in your makeup, A plague of wrinkles!
Well, more gold: what then? Believe’t, that we’ll do any thing for gold.
Well, more gold: what else? Believe me, we’ll do anything for gold.
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!
Diseases grow In hollow bones of men; they make their legs hurt, And ruin men’s ability to walk. Break the lawyer’s voice, So he can never plead a false title again, Nor make his arguments sound so sharp: weaken the priest, Who criticizes the human body, But doesn’t believe his own words: break his nose, Break it flat; take away the power Of those who, worried about their own interests, Smell the decay of society: make the tough guys Lose their hair; And let the bragging soldiers of the war Feel some pain from you: plague them all; So that your actions may defeat and crush The source of all that gets built up. There’s more gold: Do your worst to others, and let this destroy you, And may graves swallow you all!
More counsel with more money, bounteous Timon.
More advice with more money, generous Timon.
More whore, more mischief first; I have given you earnest.
More whoring, more trouble first; I’ve already given you a down payment.
Strike up the drum towards Athens! Farewell, Timon: If I thrive well, I’ll visit thee again.
Start the drum towards Athens! Goodbye, Timon: If I do well, I’ll visit you again.
If I hope well, I’ll never see thee more.
If I have hope, I’ll never see you again.
I never did thee harm.
I never did you any harm.
Yes, thou spokest well of me.
Yes, you spoke well of me.
Call’st thou that harm?
Do you call that harm?
Men daily find it. Get thee away, and take Thy beagles with thee.
Men find that out every day. Get away from me, and take Your dogs with you.
We but offend him. Strike!
We only upset him. Strike!
That nature, being sick of man’s unkindness, Should yet be hungry! Common mother, thou,
Nature, being sick of mankind’s cruelty, Should still be hungry! Mother Earth, you,
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 the abhorred births below crisp heaven Whereon Hyperion’s quickening 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 ungrateful man, with liquorish draughts And morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind, That from it all consideration slips!
Whose womb, endless and vast, gives birth, Creates and nourishes all; whose very substance, The same stuff that makes proud man so vain, Also gives life to the black toad and the blue adder, The shiny newt and the blind, venomous worm, And all the hated creatures below the sky, On which the sun’s life-giving light shines; Give me, who despises all your human sons, From your abundant womb, just one poor root! Burn your fertile and conceiving womb, Let it no longer produce ungrateful man! Let it breed tigers, dragons, wolves, and bears; Spawn new monsters, never before seen, By the heavens above and all that lies within them! O, a root, yes, thanks! Dry up your marrow, vines, and plowed fields; From which ungrateful man, with greedy drinks And oily food, fattens his pure mind, Making all thought slip away!
More man? plague, plague!
More men? Plague, plague!
I was directed hither: men report Thou dost affect my manners, and dost use them.
I was sent here: people say That you like my ways and try to copy them.
’Tis, then, because thou dost not keep a dog, Whom I would imitate: consumption catch thee!
Then it’s because you don’t keep a dog, Who I’d rather imitate: may you catch disease!
This is in thee a nature but infected; A poor unmanly melancholy sprung From change of fortune. Why this spade? this place? This slave-like habit? and these looks of care? Thy flatterers yet wear silk, drink wine, lie soft; Hug their diseased perfumes, and have forgot That ever Timon was. Shame not these woods, By putting on the cunning of a carper. Be thou a flatterer now, and seek to thrive By that which has undone thee: hinge thy knee, And let his very breath, whom thou’lt observe, Blow off thy cap; praise his most vicious strain, And call it excellent: thou wast told thus; Thou gavest thine ears like tapsters that bid welcome To knaves and all approachers: ’tis most just That thou turn rascal; hadst thou wealth again, Rascals should have ’t. Do not assume my likeness.
This is just an infected part of you; A weak, unmanly sadness born From a change in your luck. Why this shovel? This place? This slave-like behavior? And these worried looks? Your flatterers still wear silk, drink wine, sleep soft; Hug their sick perfumes, and have forgotten That Timon ever existed. Don’t shame these woods, By putting on the tricks of a critic. Be a flatterer now, and try to get ahead By doing the very thing that ruined you: kneel, And let the very breath of the man you observe Blow your cap off; praise his worst traits, And call them great: you were told to do this; You gave your ears to the cheats who welcomed Every rogue and all who approached: it’s only fair That you turn into a scoundrel; if you had wealth again, The scoundrels should get it. Don’t imitate me.
Were I like thee, I’ld throw away myself.
If I were like you, I’d throw myself away.
Thou hast cast away thyself, being like thyself; A madman so long, now a fool. What, think’st That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain, Will put thy shirt on warm? will these moss’d trees, That have outlived the eagle, page thy heels, And skip where thou point’st out? will the cold brook, Candied with ice, caudle thy morning taste, To cure thy o’er-night’s surfeit? Call the creatures Whose naked natures live in an the spite Of wreakful heaven, whose bare unhoused trunks, To the conflicting elements exposed, Answer mere nature; bid them flatter thee; O, thou shalt find--
You have thrown yourself away by being like yourself; A madman for so long, now a fool. What, do you think That the cold air, your rough chamberlain, Will warm your shirt? Will these ancient trees, That have outlived the eagle, follow you, And skip where you point? Will the cold stream, Frozen with ice, soothe your stomach, To cure your night’s over-indulgence? Call the animals Whose wild nature lives in defiance Of vengeful heaven, whose bare trunks, Exposed to the elements, follow nature; tell them to flatter you; Oh, you’ll see--
A fool of thee: depart.
A fool of you: go away.
I love thee better now than e’er I did.
I love you more now than I ever did.
I hate thee worse.
I hate you more.
Why?
Why?
Thou flatter’st misery.
You flatter misery.
I flatter not; but say thou art a caitiff.
I’m not flattering you; but I’ll call you a scoundrel.
Why dost thou seek me out?
Why are you bothering me?
To vex thee.
To annoy you.
Always a villain’s office or a fool’s. Dost please thyself in’t?
Always the job of a villain or a fool. Does it make you happy?
Ay.
Yes.
What! a knave too?
What! You’re a crook too?
If thou didst put this sour-cold habit on To castigate thy pride, ’twere well: but thou Dost it enforcedly; thou’ldst courtier be again, Wert thou not beggar. Willing misery Outlives encertain pomp, is crown’d before: The one is filling still, never complete; The other, at high wish: best state, contentless, Hath a distracted and most wretched being, Worse than the worst, content. Thou shouldst desire to die, being miserable.
If you put on this cold, bitter attitude To punish your own pride, that’d be fine: but you Do it out of force; you’d want to be a courtier again, If you weren’t a beggar. Willing misery Lasts longer than uncertain wealth, is crowned first: The one is always filling, but never full; The other, only when it’s wished for: the best state, empty, Has a troubled and miserable existence, Worse than the worst kind of content. You should want to die, being this miserable.
Not by his breath that is more miserable. Thou art a slave, whom Fortune’s tender arm With favour never clasp’d; but bred a dog. Hadst thou, like us from our first swath, proceeded The sweet degrees that this brief world affords To such as may the passive drugs of it Freely command, thou wouldst have plunged thyself In general riot; melted down thy youth In different beds of lust; and never learn’d The icy precepts of respect, but follow’d The sugar’d game before thee. But myself, Who had the world as my confectionary, The mouths, the tongues, the eyes and hearts of men At duty, more than I could frame employment, That numberless upon me stuck as leaves Do on the oak, hive with one winter’s brush Fell from their boughs and left me open, bare For every storm that blows: I, to bear this, That never knew but better, is some burden: Thy nature did commence in sufferance, time Hath made thee hard in’t. Why shouldst thou hate men? They never flatter’d thee: what hast thou given? If thou wilt curse, thy father, that poor rag, Must be thy subject, who in spite put stuff To some she beggar and compounded thee Poor rogue hereditary. Hence, be gone! If thou hadst not been born the worst of men, Thou hadst been a knave and flatterer.
Not by the man who is even more miserable than you. You’re a slave, whom Fortune’s gentle hand Never helped; you were born a dog. If you, like us, had grown up from birth, Taking the easy paths this short life offers To those who have the power to command it, You’d have thrown yourself into wild excess; Wasted your youth in different beds of lust; And never learned the cold lessons of respect, but followed The sweet temptations in front of you. But I, Who had the world as my personal candy shop, The mouths, the tongues, the eyes, and hearts of people Always at my service, more than I could handle, That countless people who stuck to me like leaves Do to an oak tree, fell off in one harsh winter, Leaving me exposed and vulnerable To every storm that came: I, who had only known better, Carrying this burden, is some weight: Your nature started in suffering, time Has made you hard. Why do you hate people? They never flattered you: what have you given? If you want to curse anyone, curse your father, that poor fool, Who, in spite, gave you the trash That made you a beggar and passed down to you The same miserable fate. Now leave! If you weren’t born the worst of men, You would’ve been a crook and a flatterer.
Art thou proud yet?
Are you proud yet?
Ay, that I am not thee.
Yes, because I’m not you.
I, that I was No prodigal.
Yes, because I wasn’t A spendthrift.
I, that I am one now: Were all the wealth I have shut up in thee, I’ld give thee leave to hang it. Get thee gone. That the whole life of Athens were in this! Thus would I eat it.
Yes, because I am one now: If all the wealth I have were in you, I’d let you hang yourself with it. Go away. If only the whole life of Athens were like this! This is how I’d eat it.
Here; I will mend thy feast.
Here; I’ll improve your meal.
First mend my company, take away thyself.
First improve my company, and take yourself away.
So I shall mend mine own, by the lack of thine.
So I’ll fix my own problems by the lack of yours.
’Tis not well mended so, it is but botch’d; if not, I would it were.
That’s not fixed properly; it’s just patched up. If it weren’t, I’d wish it were.
What wouldst thou have to Athens?
What do you want in Athens?
Thee thither in a whirlwind. If thou wilt, Tell them there I have gold; look, so I have.
You there in a whirlwind. If you want, Tell them I have gold; look, I really do.
Here is no use for gold.
Gold is useless here.
The best and truest; For here it sleeps, and does no hired harm.
The best and truest gold. Here it just sits, doing no harm to anyone.
Where liest o’ nights, Timon?
Where do you sleep at night, Timon?
Under that’s above me. Where feed’st thou o’ days, Apemantus?
Under what’s above me. Where do you eat during the day, Apemantus?
Where my stomach finds meat; or, rather, where I eat it.
Wherever my stomach finds food; or, more accurately, wherever I eat it.
Would poison were obedient and knew my mind!
I wish poison would listen and understand my thoughts!
Where wouldst thou send it?
Where would you send it?
To sauce thy dishes.
To spice up your food.
The middle of humanity thou never knewest, but the extremity of both ends: when thou wast in thy gilt and thy perfume, they mocked thee for too much curiosity; in thy rags thou knowest none, but art despised for the contrary. There’s a medlar for thee, eat it.
You’ve never known the middle ground of humanity, only the extremes: when you were rich and perfumed, they mocked you for being overly curious; now that you’re poor, no one knows you, and you’re despised for the opposite. Here’s a medlar for you, eat it.
On what I hate I feed not.
I won’t eat what I hate.
Dost hate a medlar?
You hate a medlar?
Ay, though it look like thee.
Yes, even if it looks like you.
An thou hadst hated meddlers sooner, thou shouldst have loved thyself better now. What man didst thou ever know unthrift that was beloved after his means?
If you had hated busybodies sooner, you would have been better off now. What person do you know who was wasteful and still loved after they ran out of money?
Who, without those means thou talkest of, didst thou ever know beloved?
Who, without the money you’re talking about, do you know who was ever loved?
Myself.
Me.
I understand thee; thou hadst some means to keep a dog.
I get it; you had just enough money to keep a dog.
What things in the world canst thou nearest compare to thy flatterers?
What things in the world can you compare most closely to your flatterers?
Women nearest; but men, men are the things themselves. What wouldst thou do with the world, Apemantus, if it lay in thy power?
Women are the closest; but men, men are the real thing. What would you do with the world, Apemantus, if you had the power to control it?
Give it the beasts, to be rid of the men.
I’d give it to the animals, just to get rid of the people.
Wouldst thou have thyself fall in the confusion of men, and remain a beast with the beasts?
Would you want to fall into the same mess as men, and be a beast with the animals?
Ay, Timon.
Yes, Timon.
A beastly ambition, which the gods grant thee t’ attain to! If thou wert the lion, the fox would beguile thee; if thou wert the lamb, the fox would eat three: if thou wert the fox, the lion would suspect thee, when peradventure thou wert accused by the ass: if thou wert the ass, thy dulness would torment thee, and still thou livedst but as a breakfast to the wolf: if thou wert the wolf, thy greediness would afflict thee, and oft thou shouldst hazard thy life for thy dinner: wert thou the unicorn, pride and wrath would confound thee and make thine own self the conquest of thy fury: wert thou a bear, thou wouldst be killed by the horse: wert thou a horse, thou wouldst be seized by the leopard: wert thou a leopard, thou wert german to the lion and the spots of thy kindred were jurors on thy life: all thy safety were remotion and thy defence absence. What beast couldst thou be, that were not subject to a beast? and what a beast art thou already, that seest not thy loss in transformation!
A foolish ambition, may the gods help you achieve it! If you were the lion, the fox would trick you; if you were the lamb, the fox would eat you; if you were the fox, the lion would be suspicious of you, and the donkey might accuse you; if you were the donkey, your stupidity would torture you, and you’d still just be breakfast for the wolf; if you were the wolf, your greed would ruin you, and you’d risk your life for a meal; if you were the unicorn, your pride and anger would destroy you, making your own rage your downfall; if you were a bear, the horse would kill you; if you were a horse, the leopard would catch you; if you were a leopard, you’d be like the lion, and your family’s spots would be on trial for your life: your only safety would be running away and your only defense would be hiding. What animal could you be that wouldn’t be dominated by another animal? And what kind of beast are you already, that you don’t see your own loss in this change?
If thou couldst please me with speaking to me, thou mightst have hit upon it here: the commonwealth of Athens is become a forest of beasts.
If you could please me by speaking to me, you might have gotten it right this time: Athens has turned into a forest full of animals.
How has the ass broke the wall, that thou art out of the city?
How did the donkey break the wall and get out of the city?
Yonder comes a poet and a painter: the plague of company light upon thee! I will fear to catch it and give way: when I know not what else to do, I’ll see thee again.
Here comes a poet and a painter: may the curse of their company fall on you! I’ll stay away, I’m afraid I’ll catch it, and I’ll leave: when I don’t know what else to do, I’ll see you again.
When there is nothing living but thee, thou shalt be welcome. I had rather be a beggar’s dog than Apemantus.
When there’s nothing alive but you, you’ll be welcome. I’d rather be a beggar’s dog than be you, Apemantus.
Thou art the cap of all the fools alive.
You are the crown of all the fools alive.
Would thou wert clean enough to spit upon!
I wish you were clean enough for me to spit on!
A plague on thee! thou art too bad to curse.
Damn you! you’re too awful to even curse.
All villains that do stand by thee are pure.
All the villains around you are still better than you.
There is no leprosy but what thou speak’st.
There’s nothing worse than the disease you’re talking about.
If I name thee. I’ll beat thee, but I should infect my hands.
If I call you out, I’d beat you, but I’d dirty my hands.
I would my tongue could rot them off!
I wish my tongue could rot off!
Away, thou issue of a mangy dog! Choler does kill me that thou art alive; I swound to see thee.
Get lost, you child of a mangy dog! It makes me so angry that you’re still alive; I feel faint just looking at you.
Would thou wouldst burst!
I wish you’d just explode!
Away, Thou tedious rogue! I am sorry I shall lose A stone by thee.
Get out, You annoying scoundrel! I’m sorry I wasted A stone on you.
Beast!
Animal!
Slave!
Slave!
Toad!
Toad!
Rogue, rogue, rogue! I am sick of this false world, and will love nought But even the mere necessities upon ’t. Then, Timon, presently prepare thy grave; Lie where the light foam the sea may beat Thy grave-stone daily: make thine epitaph, That death in me at others’ lives may laugh.
Scoundrel, scoundrel, scoundrel! I’m done with this fake world, and I won’t care about Anything but the bare essentials of life. So, Timon, get ready for your grave; Lie where the sea’s waves can hit Your tombstone every day: write your epitaph, That death in me may mock the lives of others.
O thou sweet king-killer, and dear divorce ’Twixt natural son and sire! thou bright defiler Of Hymen’s purest bed! thou valiant Mars! Thou ever young, fresh, loved and delicate wooer, Whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow That lies on Dian’s lap! thou visible god, That solder’st close impossibilities, And makest them kiss! that speak’st with every tongue, To every purpose! O thou touch of hearts! Think, thy slave man rebels, and by thy virtue Set them into confounding odds, that beasts May have the world in empire!
Oh, you sweet killer of kings, and the cause of separation Between father and son! You bright defiler Of marriage’s purest bond! You brave god of war! You forever young, fresh, adored and charming lover, Whose blush melts the sacred snow On Diana’s lap! You visible god, Who make impossible things come together, And make them embrace! You speak in every language, For every cause! Oh, you who touch hearts! Think, your servant rises against you, and with your power You send them into such confusion, that animals Will rule the world!
Would ’twere so! But not till I am dead. I’ll say thou’st gold: Thou wilt be throng’d to shortly.
I wish it were so! But not until I’m dead. I’ll say you have gold: You’ll be surrounded soon enough.
Throng’d to!
They’ve crowded here!
Ay.
Yes.
Thy back, I prithee.
Turn your back, please.
Live, and love thy misery.
Live, and enjoy your misery.
Long live so, and so die.
Live that way, and die that way.
I am quit. Moe things like men! Eat, Timon, and abhor them.
I’m free of him. More people like him! Eat, Timon, and hate them.
Where should he have this gold? It is some poor fragment, some slender sort of his remainder: the mere want of gold, and the falling-from of his friends, drove him into this melancholy.
Where did he get this gold? It’s probably just some small bit, some tiny remnant of his wealth: the lack of gold, and the loss of his friends, pushed him into this sadness.
It is noised he hath a mass of treasure.
People are talking that he has a huge treasure.
Let us make the assay upon him: if he care not for’t, he will supply us easily; if he covetously reserve it, how shall’s get it?
Let’s try to take it from him: if he doesn’t care about it, he’ll give it to us easily; but if he’s greedily hiding it, how do we get it?
True; for he bears it not about him, ’tis hid.
True; he’s not carrying it on him, it’s hidden.
Is not this he?
Isn’t this him?
Where?
Where?
’Tis his description.
It matches his description.
He; I know him.
Yes, I know him.
Save thee, Timon.
Hello, Timon.
Now, thieves?
Now, thieves?
Soldiers, not thieves.
Soldiers, not thieves.
Both too; and women’s sons.
Both, and sons of women too.
We are not thieves, but men that much do want.
We’re not thieves, just men who really need things.
Your greatest want is, you want much of meat. Why should you want? Behold, the earth hath roots; Within this mile break forth a hundred springs; The oaks bear mast, the briers scarlet hips; The bounteous housewife, nature, on each bush Lays her full mess before you. Want! why want?
Your biggest need is food. Why should you need anything? Look, the earth has roots; Within this mile, a hundred springs come up; The oaks have acorns, the briars have red berries; The generous earth, nature herself, lays out her feast before you. Need? What need?
We cannot live on grass, on berries, water, As beasts and birds and fishes.
We can’t live on grass, berries, or water, Like animals, birds, and fish.
Nor on the beasts themselves, the birds, and fishes; You must eat men. Yet thanks I must you con That you are thieves profess’d, that you work not In holier shapes: for there is boundless theft In limited professions. Rascal thieves, Here’s gold. Go, suck the subtle blood o’ the grape, Till the high fever seethe your blood to froth, And so ’scape hanging: trust not the physician; His antidotes are poison, and he slays Moe than you rob: take wealth and lives together; Do villany, do, since you protest to do’t, Like workmen. I’ll example you with thievery. The sun’s a thief, and with his great attraction Robs the vast sea: the moon’s an arrant thief, And her pale fire she snatches from the sun: The sea’s a thief, whose liquid surge resolves The moon into salt tears: the earth’s a thief, That feeds and breeds by a composture stolen From general excrement: each thing’s a thief: The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough power Have uncheque’d theft. Love not yourselves: away, Rob one another. There’s more gold. Cut throats: All that you meet are thieves: to Athens go, Break open shops; nothing can you steal, But thieves do lose it: steal no less for this I give you; and gold confound you howsoe’er! Amen.
Nor on the animals, birds, or fish themselves; You must eat people. But I thank you for being honest thieves, at least you’re not pretending to be something nobler: there’s endless stealing in limited professions. You worthless thieves, Here’s some gold. Go, drink the sweet juice of the grape, Until the fever boils your blood and you escape hanging; don’t trust the doctor; His cures are poison, and he kills more than you steal. Take wealth and lives together; Do evil, since that’s what you say you’re here to do, Like honest workers. Let me show you how to steal. The sun is a thief, with its strong pull Stealing from the sea: the moon’s a thief too, Stealing her pale light from the sun: The sea’s a thief, whose waves wash the moon away into salty tears: the earth’s a thief, Feeding and growing by stealing composted waste: Everything’s a thief: The laws, with their power, steal without question. Don’t love yourselves: go on, Steal from each other. There’s more gold. Kill each other: Everyone you meet is a thief: go to Athens, Break into stores; you can’t steal anything But thieves will lose it: steal even more because of this I give you; and may gold ruin you, however it may! Amen.
Has almost charmed me from my profession, by persuading me to it.
You’ve almost convinced me to quit my job by talking me into it.
’Tis in the malice of mankind that he thus advises us; not to have us thrive in our mystery.
It’s the malice of humanity that makes him tell us this, Not because he wants us to succeed in our trade.
I’ll believe him as an enemy, and give over my trade.
I’ll see him as an enemy, and quit my job.
Let us first see peace in Athens: there is no time so miserable but a man may be true.
Let’s first see peace in Athens: there’s no situation So bad that a man can’t stay true.
O you gods! Is yond despised and ruinous man my lord? Full of decay and failing? O monument And wonder of good deeds evilly bestow’d! What an alteration of honour Has desperate want made! What viler thing upon the earth than friends Who can bring noblest minds to basest ends! How rarely does it meet with this time’s guise, When man was wish’d to love his enemies! Grant I may ever love, and rather woo Those that would mischief me than those that do! Has caught me in his eye: I will present My honest grief unto him; and, as my lord, Still serve him with my life. My dearest master!
Oh, gods! Is that ruined and despised man my lord? Full of decay and failure? Oh, the monument And wonder of good deeds so poorly rewarded! What a change of honor Has desperate need caused! What’s worse on earth than friends Who bring noble minds to the lowest ends! How rare it is, in this time, to see When people wished to love their enemies! I pray I may always love, and rather try to win over Those who would harm me than those who do! He’s caught me with his gaze: I will present My honest grief to him; and, as my lord, I will serve him with my life. My dearest master!
Away! what art thou?
Go away! Who are you?
Have you forgot me, sir?
Have you forgotten me, sir?
Why dost ask that? I have forgot all men; Then, if thou grant’st thou’rt a man, I have forgot thee.
Why do you ask that? I’ve forgotten all people; Then, if you admit you’re a person, I’ve forgotten you.
An honest poor servant of yours.
An honest, poor servant of yours.
Then I know thee not: I never had honest man about me, I; all I kept were knaves, to serve in meat to villains.
Then I don’t know you: I never had an honest man around me, I; all I kept were dishonest men, to serve up food to villains.
The gods are witness, Ne’er did poor steward wear a truer grief For his undone lord than mine eyes for you.
The gods are my witness, Never did a poor steward wear a truer grief For his ruined lord than my eyes do for you.
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 laughing, not with weeping!
What, are you crying? Come closer. Then I love you, Because you are a woman, and you turn away from Heartless men; whose eyes never show anything But lust and laughter. Compassion is asleep: Strange times, that we cry with laughter, not with tears!
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.
I beg you to remember me, my lord, To accept my grief and, while this poor wealth lasts, Let me continue as your steward.
Had I a steward So true, so just, and now so comfortable? It almost turns my dangerous nature mild. Let me behold thy face. Surely, this man Was born of woman. Forgive my general and exceptless rashness, You perpetual-sober gods! I do proclaim One honest man--mistake me not--but one; No more, I pray,--and he’s a steward. How fain would I have hated all mankind! And thou redeem’st thyself: but all, save thee, I fell with curses. Methinks thou art more honest now than wise; For, by oppressing and betraying me, Thou mightst have sooner got another service: For many so arrive at second masters, Upon their first lord’s neck. But tell me true-- For I must ever doubt, though ne’er so sure-- Is not thy kindness subtle, covetous, If not a usuring kindness, and, as rich men deal gifts, Expecting in return twenty for one?
Had I a steward So true, so just, and now so comforting? It almost softens my angry nature. Let me see your face. Surely, this man Was born of a woman. Forgive my rashness, you sober gods! I declare One honest man—don’t mistake me—just one; No more, I ask,--and he’s a steward. How much I would have liked to hate all mankind! And you redeem yourself: but everyone else, I curse with anger. I think you’re more honest now than wise; Because, by betraying and exploiting me, You could’ve easily found another job: Many people get second jobs By climbing on the backs of their first masters. But tell me truly— Because I’ll always doubt, even when I’m sure— Isn’t your kindness hidden, greedy, If not a money-grabbing kindness, and, like rich men with gifts, Expecting twenty times as much in return?
No, my most worthy master; in whose breast Doubt and suspect, alas, are placed too late: You should have fear’d false times when you did 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’ld exchange For this one wish, that you had power and wealth To requite me, by making rich yourself.
No, my most worthy master; in your heart Doubt and suspicion, sadly, are placed too late: You should have feared false times when you were feasting: Suspicion always follows when you have the least. What I show you, heaven knows, is only love, Duty and zeal for your brilliant mind, Concern for your food and well-being; and, believe me, My most honored lord, For any benefit that comes to me, Whether hoped for or present, I’d exchange For this one wish: that you had the power and wealth To repay me by making yourself rich.
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 flesh slide from the bone, Ere thou relieve the beggar; give to dogs What thou deny’st to men; let prisons swallow ’em, Debts wither ’em to nothing; be men like blasted woods, And may diseases lick up their false bloods! And so farewell and thrive.
Look, it’s true! You’re the only honest man, Here, take this: the gods have sent you treasure Out of my misery. Go, live rich and happy; But with this condition: you must turn away from men; Hate all, curse all, show charity to none, But let the starving bodies rot away, Before you help the beggar; give to dogs What you deny to men; let prisons swallow them, Debts waste them away to nothing; let men be like Dead woods, And may diseases drain their false bloods! And so goodbye, and prosper.
O, let me stay, And comfort you, my master.
Oh, let me stay, And comfort you, my master.
If thou hatest curses, Stay not; fly, whilst thou art blest and free: Ne’er see thou man, and let me ne’er see thee.
If you hate curses, Don’t stay; go, while you’re blessed and free: Never see any man, and let me never see you.