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ALIBIAGES, with drun

ner; PHRYNIA and TIMANDRA.

Heih. What art thou there?

1 This alludes to the old, erroneous, prevalent opinion, that infection communicated to another, left the infecter free.

Alcib.

What is it, Timon?

Tim. 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!

Alcib. I have heard in some sort of thy miseries. Tim. Thou saw'st them, when I had prosperity. Alcib. I see them now; then was a blessed time. Tim. As thine is now, held with a brace of harlots. Timan. Is this the Athenian minion, whom the world Voiced so regardfully?

Tim.

Timan.

Art thou Timandra?

Yes.

Tim. 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.'

Timan.

Hang thee, monster! Alcib. Pardon him, sweet Timandra; for his wits Are drowned 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 neighbor states,
But for thy sword and fortune, trod upon them,-
Tim. I pr'ythee, beat thy drum, and get thee gone.
Alcib. I am thy friend, and pity thee, dear Timon.
Tim. How dost thou pity him whom thou dost
trouble?

I had rather be alone.

Alcib.

Why, fare thee well;

Here's some gold for thee.

Tim.

Keep't, I cannot eat it.

Alcib. When I have laid proud Athens on a heap,

1 See Act ii. Sc. 2. The diet was a customary term for the regimen prescribed in these cases.

Tim. Warr'st thou against Athens?

Alcib.

Ay, Timon, and have cause. Tim. The gods confound them all i'thy conquest;

and

Thee after, when thou hast conquered!

Alcib.

Tim. That,

Why me, Timon?

By killing 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 honored age for his white beard;
He's 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,3 whom the oracle

Hath doubtfully pronounced thy throat shall cut,
And mince it sans remorse. Swear against objects ; ́
Put armor 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.

Alcib. Hast thou gold yet? I'll take the gold thou givest me,

Not all thy counsel.

1 Cutting.

2 By window-bars, the Poet, perhaps, means "the partlet, gorget, or kerchief, which women put about their neck."

3 An allusion to the tale of Edipus.

4 i. e. against objects of charity and compassion.