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Modern English
Sound to this coward and lascivious town Our terrible approach.
Sound the trumpet to warn this cowardly, corrupt city Of our powerful approach.
Till now you have gone on and fill’d the time With all licentious measure, making your wills The scope of justice; till now myself and such As slept within the shadow of your power Hav e wander’d with our traversed arms and breathed Our sufferance vainly: now the time is flush, When crouching marrow in the bearer strong Cries of itself ’No more:’ now breathless wrong Shall sit and pant in your great chairs of ease, And pursy insolence shall break his wind With fear and horrid flight.
Until now, you’ve been acting without restraint, Doing whatever you wanted, making your desires The measure of justice; until now, I and others Who lived under your power Have wandered aimlessly, suffering in vain: Now the time has come, When even the strong man’s bones cry out ’No more:’ Now, breathless wrong Will sit panting in your comfortable seats, And swollen arrogance will be out of breath From fear and panicked flight.
Noble and young, When thy first griefs were but a mere conceit, Ere thou hadst power or we had cause of fear, We sent to thee, to give thy rages balm, To wipe out our ingratitude with loves Above their quantity.
Noble and young, When your early troubles were just an idea, Before you had power or we had reason to fear, We sent to you, to soothe your anger, To wipe away our ingratitude with love That was greater than we deserved.
So did we woo Transformed Timon to our city’s love By humble message and by promised means: We were not all unkind, nor all deserve The common stroke of war.
We did the same When we tried to win Timon’s love for our city With humble messages and promises: We weren’t all unkind, nor did we all deserve The full weight of war.
These walls of ours Were not erected by their hands from whom You have received your griefs; nor are they such That these great towers, trophies and schools should fall For private faults in them.
These walls of ours Were not built by the hands of those Who caused your troubles; nor are they the kind That these great towers, trophies, and schools Should fall For private wrongs committed within them.
Nor are they living Who were the motives that you first went out; Shame that they wanted cunning, in excess Hath broke their hearts. March, noble lord, Into our city with thy banners spread: By decimation, and a tithed death-- If thy revenges hunger for that food Which nature loathes--take thou the destined tenth, And by the hazard of the spotted die Let die the spotted.
Nor are they alive Who were the reasons you first went out; Shame that they lacked cleverness, in excess Has broken their hearts. March, noble lord, Into our city with your flags raised: By killing a tenth of them, and a death by lottery-- If your revenge craves that kind of punishment Which nature hates--take the chosen tenth, And by the randomness of the spotted dice Let the unlucky ones die.
All have not offended; For those that were, it is not square to take On those that are, revenges: crimes, like lands, Are not inherited. Then, dear countryman, Bring in thy ranks, but leave without thy rage: Spare thy Athenian cradle and those kin Which in the bluster of thy wrath must fall With those that have offended: like a shepherd, Approach the fold and cull the infected forth, But kill not all together.
Not everyone has sinned; For those who have, it’s wrong to punish Those who haven’t: crimes, like land, Aren’t passed down from one generation to the next. Then, dear countryman, Bring your troops in, but leave your anger behind: Spare your Athenian children and their families Who, caught in the heat of your wrath, must suffer Along with those who’ve wronged you: like a shepherd, Approach the flock and separate the sick ones, But don’t kill them all.
What thou wilt, Thou rather shalt enforce it with thy smile Than hew to’t with thy sword.
Do as you wish, But you’ll be more effective with a smile Than by cutting with your sword.
Set but thy foot Against our rampired gates, and they shall ope; So thou wilt send thy gentle heart before, To say thou’lt enter friendly.
Just set your foot Against our fortified gates, and they’ll open; If you send your kind heart ahead, To show that you’ll enter peacefully.
Throw thy glove, Or any token of thine honour else, That thou wilt use the wars as thy redress And not as our confusion, all thy powers Shall make their harbour in our town, till we Have seal’d thy full desire.
Throw down your glove, Or any other token of your honor, That you’ll use the wars to right wrongs And not to cause chaos: all your forces Will be welcomed in our city, until we Have granted you your full desire.
Then there’s my glove; Descend, and open your uncharged ports: Those enemies of Timon’s and mine own Whom you yourselves shall set out for reproof Fall and no more: and, to atone your fears With my more noble meaning, not a man Shall pass his quarter, or offend the stream Of regular justice in your city’s bounds, But shall be render’d to your public laws At heaviest answer.
Here’s my glove; Come down, and open your gates: Those enemies of Timon’s and mine own Who you yourselves will send out for punishment Shall fall and not rise again: and, to ease your fears With my more noble intent, no man Shall cross his quarter or break the law Of regular justice in your city, But shall be brought to trial To face the harshest consequences.
’Tis most nobly spoken.
That is very noble of you.
Descend, and keep your words.
Come down, and keep your promise.
My noble general, Timon is dead; Entomb’d upon the very hem o’ the sea; And on his grave-stone this insculpture, which With wax I brought away, whose soft impression Interprets for my poor ignorance.
My noble general, Timon is dead; Buried right by the sea; And on his tombstone this inscription, which I brought away with me, whose soft impression Tells me what I didn’t know.
[Reads the epitaph] ’Here lies a wretched corse, of wretched soul bereft: Seek not my name: a plague consume you wicked caitiffs left! Here lie I, Timon; who, alive, all living men did hate: Pass by and curse thy fill, but pass and stay not here thy gait.’ These well express in thee thy latter spirits: Though thou abhorr’dst in us our human griefs, Scorn’dst our brain’s flow and those our droplets which From niggard nature fall, yet rich conceit Taught thee to make vast Neptune weep for aye On thy low grave, on faults forgiven. Dead Is noble Timon: of whose memory Hereafter more. Bring me into your city, And I will use the olive with my sword, Make war breed peace, make peace stint war, make each Prescribe to other as each other’s leech. Let our drums strike.
[Reads the epitaph] ’Here lies a miserable corpse, with a miserable soul: Don’t look for my name: may a plague consume you wicked villains who are left! Here lies Timon; who, while alive, hated all living men: Pass by and curse as much as you want, but don’t stop here. These words show the bitterness of his final thoughts: Though you hated our human sorrows, Despised our thoughts and those small tears That fall from our stingy nature, yet clever thought Taught you to make the great god Neptune weep forever On your low grave, forgiving faults. Dead Is noble Timon: more will be said of his memory Later. Bring me into your city, And I will use peace to end war, Make peace stop war, and let each side Serve as a cure for the other. Let our drums beat.