Original
Modern English
As I took note of the place, it cannot be far where he abides.
As I observed the place, it can’t be far where he lives.
What’s to be thought of him? does the rumour hold for true, that he’s so full of gold?
What do people think of him? Is the rumor true that he’s so rich in gold?
Certain: Alcibiades reports it; Phrynia and Timandra had gold of him: he likewise enriched poor straggling soldiers with great quantity: ’tis said he gave unto his steward a mighty sum.
Definitely: Alcibiades says so; Phrynia and Timandra got gold from him: he also gave a lot to poor wandering soldiers: they say he gave his steward a huge amount of money.
Then this breaking of his has been but a try for his friends.
Then this loss of his must just be a test for his friends.
Nothing else: you shall see him a palm in Athens again, and flourish with the highest. 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 travail for, if it be a just true report that goes of his having.
Nothing more: you’ll see him back on top in Athens again, thriving like never before. So it’s not wrong for us to show our support for him, in this supposed trouble of his: it’ll make us look good and is very likely to help us get what we want, if the rumor about his wealth is true.
What have you now to present unto him?
What do you have to present to him now?
Nothing at this time but my visitation: only I will promise him an excellent piece.
Nothing right now except my visit: but I’ll promise him a great piece of work.
I must serve him so too, tell him of an intent that’s coming toward him.
I’ll serve him the same way, tell him about something I’m planning for him.
Good as the best. Promising 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 or testament which argues a great sickness in his judgment that makes it.
As good as the best. Promising is the fashion of the time: it sparks hope in people’s hearts: but actually doing it is always less exciting; and, except for the simpler kind of people, saying things has lost its value. To promise is the most elegant and fashionable thing: actually doing it is a kind of will or last testament, showing a serious flaw in judgment from the one who makes it.
[Aside] Excellent workman! thou canst not paint a man so bad as is thyself.
[Aside] Great artist! You couldn’t paint a man worse than you’ve made yourself.
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.
I’m thinking about what to say I’ve prepared for him: it should be a portrayal of himself; a satire against the ease of success, with a revealing of all the flattery that comes with youth and wealth.
[Aside] Must thou needs stand for a villain in thine own work? wilt thou whip thine own faults in other men? Do so, I have gold for thee.
[Aside] Do you have to act like a villain in your own work? Will you criticize your own faults in others? Go ahead, I’ve got gold for you.
Nay, let’s seek him: Then do we sin against our own estate, When we may profit meet, and come too late.
No, let’s go find him: We sin against ourselves, When we have the chance to gain something, but arrive too late.
True; When the day serves, before black-corner’d night, Find what thou want’st by free and offer’d light. Come.
True; When the day is right, before night falls, Find what you need while the light is still free and available. Come.
[Aside] I’ll meet you at the turn. What a god’s gold, That he is worshipp’d in a baser temple Than where swine feed! ’Tis thou that rigg’st the bark and plough’st the foam, Settlest admired reverence in a slave: To thee be worship! and thy saints for aye Be crown’d with plagues that thee alone obey! Fit I meet them.
[Aside] I’ll meet you at the turn. What kind of god’s gold, That he is worshipped in a cheaper temple Than where pigs feed! It’s you who steers the ship and rides the waves, Making a slave worthy of admiration: To you be worship! And may your followers forever Be crowned with curses, obeying only you! I’m ready to meet them.
Hail, worthy Timon!
Hail, noble Timon!
Our late noble master!
Our former great master!
Have I once lived to see two honest men?
Have I really lived to see two honest men?
Sir, Having often of your open bounty tasted, Hearing you were retired, your friends fall’n off, Whose thankless natures--O abhorred spirits!-- Not all the whips of heaven are large enough: What! to you, Whose star-like nobleness gave life and influence To their whole being! I am rapt and cannot cover The monstrous bulk of this ingratitude With any size of words.
Sir, Having often benefited from your generous nature, Hearing that you’ve retired, and your friends have abandoned you, Those ungrateful souls--Oh, how vile they are!-- Not even all the whips of heaven could punish them enough: What! To you, Whose noble qualities gave life and power To all of them! I’m speechless and can’t find words To describe the enormity of this ingratitude.
Let it go naked, men may see’t the better: You that are honest, by being what you are, Make them best seen and known.
Let it be obvious, people will see it more clearly: You who are honest, by being yourselves, Make them the most visible and known.
He and myself Have travail’d in the great shower of your gifts, And sweetly felt it.
He and I Have worked hard under the heavy shower of your gifts, And have felt its sweetness.
Ay, you are honest men.
Yes, you are honest men.
We are hither come to offer you our service.
We have come here to offer you our service.
Most honest men! Why, how shall I requite you? Can you eat roots, and drink cold water? no.
Most honest men! How can I repay you? Can you live on roots and drink cold water? No.
What we can do, we’ll do, to do you service.
What we can do, we will do, to serve you.
Ye’re honest men: ye’ve heard that I have gold; I am sure you have: speak truth; ye’re honest men.
You’re honest men: you’ve heard I have gold; I’m sure you have: speak the truth; you’re honest men.
So it is said, my noble lord; but therefore Came not my friend nor I.
Yes, it’s said so, my noble lord; but that’s why My friend and I did not come.
Good honest men! Thou draw’st a counterfeit Best in all Athens: thou’rt, indeed, the best; Thou counterfeit’st most lively.
Good, decent men! You’re pretending to be the best In all of Athens: you really are the best; You pretend so well.
So, so, my lord.
Yes, yes, my lord.
E’en so, sir, as I say. And, for thy fiction, Why, thy verse swells with stuff so fine and smooth That thou art even natural in thine art. But, for all this, my honest-natured friends, I must needs say you have a little fault: Marry, ’tis not monstrous in you, neither wish I You take much pains to mend.
Exactly, sir, just as I said. And for your invention, Your poetry is full of such fine and smooth words That you’re even natural in your craft. But, despite all this, my good-natured friends, I must admit you have a small flaw: But it’s not a huge one, and I don’t wish for You to go to great lengths to fix it.
Beseech your honour To make it known to us.
We beg your honor To let us know what it is.
You’ll take it ill.
You’ll take it badly.
Most thankfully, my lord.
We’ll be most grateful, my lord.
Will you, indeed?
Will you, really?
Doubt it not, worthy lord.
We swear it, noble lord.
There’s never a one of you but trusts a knave, That mightily deceives you.
There’s not one of you who doesn’t trust a scoundrel, Who deceives you terribly.
Do we, my lord?
Do we, my lord?
Ay, and you hear him cog, see him dissemble, Know his gross patchery, love him, feed him, Keep in your bosom: yet remain assured That he’s a made-up villain.
Yes, and you hear him lie, watch him fake emotions, Know his obvious trickery, love him, feed him, Keep him close: and still, you’re certain That he’s a completely made-up villain.
I know none such, my lord.
I don’t know anyone like that, my lord.
Nor I.
Nor do I.
Look you, I love you well; I’ll give you gold, Rid me these villains from your companies: Hang them or stab them, drown them in a draught, Confound them by some course, and come to me, I’ll give you gold enough.
Look, I like you both; I’ll give you gold, Get rid of these villains from your circles: Hang them or stab them, drown them in a drink, Destroy them in some way, and come to me, I’ll give you plenty of gold.
Name them, my lord, let’s know them.
Name them, my lord, let us know who they are.
You that way and you this, but two in company; Each man apart, all single and alone, Yet an arch-villain keeps him company. If where thou art two villains shall not be, Come not near him. If thou wouldst not reside But where one villain is, then him abandon. Hence, pack! there’s gold; you came for gold, ye slaves:
You go that way, and you go this, just two of you together; Each man alone, all by himself, But still, a wicked villain is keeping him company. If there aren’t two villains where you are, Don’t come near him. If you only want to be Where there’s one villain, then leave him alone. Now, get out of here! There’s gold; you came for gold, you slaves:
You have work’d for me; there’s payment for you: hence!
You worked for me; here’s your payment: now go!
You are an alchemist; make gold of that. Out, rascal dogs!
You’re like an alchemist; turn this into gold. Get out, you worthless dogs!
It is in vain that you would speak with Timon; For he is set so only to himself That nothing but himself which looks like man Is friendly with him.
It’s pointless for you to try to talk to Timon; He’s so focused on himself That only things that look like him are on his side.
Bring us to his cave: It is our part and promise to the Athenians To speak with Timon.
Take us to his cave: It’s our duty and promise to the Athenians To speak with Timon.
At all times alike Men are not still the same: ’twas time and griefs That framed him thus: time, with his fairer hand, Offering the fortunes of his former days, The former man may make him. Bring us to him, And chance it as it may.
Men are never the same all the time: It was time and sorrow that shaped him this way: Time, with its gentler touch, Could restore the fortune of his past; maybe it will bring back the old Timon. Let’s go to him, and see what happens.
Here is his cave. Peace and content be here! Lord Timon! Timon! Look out, and speak to friends: the Athenians, By two of their most reverend senate, greet thee: Speak to them, noble Timon.
Here’s his cave. Peace and calm be here! Lord Timon! Timon! Come out and speak to your friends: the Athenians, Represented by two of their most respected senators, greet you: Talk to them, noble Timon.
Thou sun, that comfort’st, burn! Speak, and be hang’d: For each true word, a blister! and each false Be as cauterizing to the root o’ the tongue, Consuming it with speaking!
You sun, that brings comfort, burn! Speak, and be cursed: For every truthful word, let it bring pain! And every lie Should burn the root of your tongue, Destroying it with every word you speak!
Worthy Timon,--
Worthy Timon,--
Of none but such as you, and you of Timon.
Only people like you are worthy of me, and you are Timon too.
The senators of Athens greet thee, Timon.
The senators of Athens greet you, Timon.
I thank them; and would send them back the plague, Could I but catch it for them.
I thank them; and would send them back the plague, If only I could catch it for them.
O, forget What we are sorry for ourselves in thee. The senators with one consent of love Entreat thee back to Athens; who have thought On special dignities, which vacant lie For thy best use and wearing.
Oh, forget What we feel sorry for on your behalf. The senators, all agreeing out of love, Beg you to come back to Athens; they have thought Of important positions that are now vacant For your best use and benefit.
They confess Toward thee forgetfulness too general, gross: Which now the public body, which doth seldom Play the recanter, feeling in itself A lack of Timon’s aid, hath sense withal Of its own fail, restraining aid to Timon; And send forth us, to make their sorrow’d render, Together with a recompense more fruitful Than their offence can weigh down by the dram; Ay, even such heaps and sums of love and wealth As shall to thee blot out what wrongs were theirs And write in thee the figures of their love, Ever to read them thine.
They admit That they’ve forgotten you, too generally and badly: Now the public, which usually doesn’t change its mind, Realizes it needs Timon’s help, and also feels Its own failure in holding back support for you; And they’ve sent us to express their sorrow, Along with a reward more valuable Than their wrongdoing could ever weigh; Yes, even piles of love and wealth That will erase their wrongs And show you how much they love you, So you can always remember their love.
You witch me in it; Surprise me to the very brink of tears: Lend me a fool’s heart and a woman’s eyes, And I’ll beweep these comforts, worthy senators.
You charm me with this; You surprise me almost to tears: Give me a fool’s heart and a woman’s eyes, And I’ll cry over these comforts, worthy senators.
Therefore, so please thee to return with us And of our Athens, thine and ours, to take The captainship, thou shalt be met with thanks, Allow’d with absolute power and thy good name Live with authority: so soon we shall drive back Of Alcibiades the approaches wild, Who, like a boar too savage, doth root up His country’s peace.
So, if it pleases you, return with us And take the leadership of our Athens, which is yours and ours, You’ll be welcomed with thanks, Given full power, and your good name Will carry authority: soon we’ll drive back Alcibiades’ wild attack, Who, like a savage boar, is tearing up Our country’s peace.
And shakes his threatening sword Against the walls of Athens.
And shaking his threatening sword At the walls of Athens.
Therefore, Timon,--
Therefore, Timon,--
Well, sir, I will; therefore, I will, sir; thus: If Alcibiades kill my countrymen, Let Alcibiades know this of Timon, That Timon cares not. But if be sack fair Athens, And take our goodly aged men by the beards, Giving our holy virgins to the stain Of contumelious, beastly, mad-brain’d war, Then let him know, and tell him Timon speaks it, In pity of our aged and our youth, I cannot choose but tell him, that I care not, And let him take’t at worst; for their knives care not, While you have throats to answer: for myself, There’s not a whittle in the unruly camp But I do prize it at my love before The reverend’st throat in Athens. So I leave you To the protection of the prosperous gods, As thieves to keepers.
Well, I will; yes, I will; here’s the deal: If Alcibiades kills my fellow citizens, Let him know this about Timon, That Timon doesn’t care. But if he sacks Athens, And grabs our elderly men by the beards, Exposing our pure virgins to the shame Of brutal, senseless, and chaotic war, Then let him know, and I’ll tell him Timon says this, Out of pity for our elders and our youth, I can’t help but tell him, I don’t care, And let him take it however he wants; their knives won’t care, As long as you have throats to cut: as for me, There’s not a knife in that unruly camp That I wouldn’t value more than The most respected person in Athens. So I leave you To the care of the gods who prosper, Like thieves to their keepers.
Stay not, all’s in vain.
Don’t stay, it’s all pointless.
Why, I was writing of my epitaph; it will be seen to-morrow: my long sickness Of health and living now begins to mend, And nothing brings me all things. Go, live still; Be Alcibiades your plague, you his, And last so long enough!
Why, I was writing my epitaph; It’ll be seen tomorrow: my long sickness Of health and living is starting to improve, And nothing brings me all things. Go, live on; Let Alcibiades be your plague, and you his, And may it last long enough!
We speak in vain.
We’re speaking in vain.
But yet I love my country, and am not One that rejoices in the common wreck, As common bruit doth put it.
But I do love my country, and I am not One who enjoys the ruin of the common people, As the common gossip suggests.
That’s well spoke.
That’s well said.
Commend me to my loving countrymen,--
Give my regards to my loving fellow citizens,--
These words become your lips as they pass thorough them.
Those words sound right coming from you.
And enter in our ears like great triumphers In their applauding gates.
And they enter our ears like great triumphs At their grand celebrations.
Commend me to them, And tell them that, to ease them of their griefs, Their fears of hostile strokes, their aches, losses, Their pangs of love, with other incident throes That nature’s fragile vessel doth sustain In life’s uncertain voyage, I will some kindness do them: I’ll teach them to prevent wild Alcibiades’ wrath.
Give my regards to them, And tell them that, to ease their sorrows, Their fears of attack, their pains, losses, Their heartbreaks, and all the other struggles That the fragile body suffers On life’s uncertain journey, I’ll do them some kindness: I’ll teach them how to avoid the wrath of wild Alcibiades.
I like this well; he will return again.
I like this well; he will return again.
I have a tree, which grows here in my close, That mine own use invites me to cut down, And shortly must I fell it: tell my friends, Tell Athens, in the sequence of degree From high to low throughout, that whoso please To stop affliction, let him take his haste, Come hither, ere my tree hath felt the axe, And hang himself. I pray you, do my greeting.
I have a tree, which grows here in my yard, That I need to cut down for my own use, And soon I must chop it down: tell my friends, Tell Athens, from the highest to the lowest, That anyone who wants to stop suffering should hurry, Come here before my tree feels the axe, And hang themselves. Please, give them my message.
Trouble him no further; thus you still shall find him.
Don’t bother him anymore; this is how you’ll always find him.
Come not to me again: but say to Athens, Timon hath made his everlasting mansion Upon the beached verge of the salt flood; Who once a day with his embossed froth The turbulent surge shall cover: thither come, And let my grave-stone be your oracle. Lips, let sour words go by and language end: What is amiss plague and infection mend! Graves only be men’s works and death their gain! Sun, hide thy beams! Timon hath done his reign.
Don’t come to me again: but tell Athens, Timon has made his permanent home On the edge of the salty sea; Where the waves will cover him every day With their foamy tide: come there, And let my tombstone be your guide. Let harsh words pass and silence take over: Whatever is wrong, may plague and disease fix it! Let graves be the work of men and death their reward! Sun, hide your light! Timon’s reign is over.
His discontents are unremoveably Coupled to nature.
His unhappiness is permanently tied To his nature.
Our hope in him is dead: let us return, And strain what other means is left unto us In our dear peril.
Our hope in him is dead: let’s go back, And try what other options are left to us In this dangerous situation.
It requires swift foot.
It requires quick action.