Chapter 54
Part 54
CALIBAN. [_Aside._] These be fine things, an if they be not sprites. That’s a brave god, and bears celestial liquor. I will kneel to him.
STEPHANO. How didst thou scape? How cam’st thou hither? Swear by this bottle how thou cam’st hither—I escaped upon a butt of sack, which the sailors heaved o’erboard, by this bottle! which I made of the bark of a tree with mine own hands, since I was cast ashore.
CALIBAN. I’ll swear upon that bottle to be thy true subject, for the liquor is not earthly.
STEPHANO. Here. Swear then how thou escapedst.
TRINCULO. Swum ashore, man, like a duck: I can swim like a duck, I’ll be sworn.
STEPHANO. Here, kiss the book. Though thou canst swim like a duck, thou art made like a goose.
TRINCULO. O Stephano, hast any more of this?
STEPHANO. The whole butt, man: my cellar is in a rock by th’ seaside, where my wine is hid. How now, moon-calf! How does thine ague?
CALIBAN. Hast thou not dropped from heaven?
STEPHANO. Out o’ the moon, I do assure thee: I was the Man in the Moon, when time was.
CALIBAN. I have seen thee in her, and I do adore thee. My mistress showed me thee, and thy dog, and thy bush.
STEPHANO. Come, swear to that. Kiss the book. I will furnish it anon with new contents. Swear.
TRINCULO. By this good light, this is a very shallow monster. I afeard of him? A very weak monster. The Man i’ the Moon! A most poor credulous monster! Well drawn, monster, in good sooth!
CALIBAN. I’ll show thee every fertile inch o’ the island; and I will kiss thy foot. I prithee, be my god.
TRINCULO. By this light, a most perfidious and drunken monster. When ’s god’s asleep, he’ll rob his bottle.
CALIBAN. I’ll kiss thy foot. I’ll swear myself thy subject.
STEPHANO. Come on, then; down, and swear.
TRINCULO. I shall laugh myself to death at this puppy-headed monster. A most scurvy monster! I could find in my heart to beat him,—
STEPHANO. Come, kiss.
TRINCULO. But that the poor monster’s in drink. An abominable monster!
CALIBAN. I’ll show thee the best springs; I’ll pluck thee berries; I’ll fish for thee, and get thee wood enough. A plague upon the tyrant that I serve! I’ll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee, Thou wondrous man.
TRINCULO. A most ridiculous monster, to make a wonder of a poor drunkard!
CALIBAN. I prithee, let me bring thee where crabs grow; And I with my long nails will dig thee pig-nuts; Show thee a jay’s nest, and instruct thee how To snare the nimble marmoset; I’ll bring thee To clustering filberts, and sometimes I’ll get thee Young scamels from the rock. Wilt thou go with me?
STEPHANO. I prithee now, lead the way without any more talking. Trinculo, the King and all our company else being drowned, we will inherit here. Here, bear my bottle. Fellow Trinculo, we’ll fill him by and by again.
CALIBAN. [_Sings drunkenly._] _Farewell, master; farewell, farewell!_
TRINCULO. A howling monster, a drunken monster.
CALIBAN. _No more dams I’ll make for fish; Nor fetch in firing At requiring, Nor scrape trenchering, nor wash dish; ’Ban ’Ban, Cacaliban, Has a new master—Get a new man._ Freedom, high-day! high-day, freedom! freedom, high-day, freedom!
STEPHANO. O brave monster! lead the way.
[_Exeunt._]
ACT III
SCENE I. Before Prospero’s cell.
Enter Ferdinand bearing a log.
FERDINAND. There be some sports are painful, and their labour Delight in them sets off: some kinds of baseness Are nobly undergone; and most poor matters Point to rich ends. This my mean task Would be as heavy to me as odious, but The mistress which I serve quickens what’s dead, And makes my labours pleasures: O, she is Ten times more gentle than her father’s crabbed, And he’s compos’d of harshness. I must remove Some thousands of these logs, and pile them up, Upon a sore injunction: my sweet mistress Weeps when she sees me work, and says such baseness Had never like executor. I forget: But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labours, Most busy, least when I do it.
Enter Miranda and Prospero behind.
MIRANDA. Alas now, pray you, Work not so hard: I would the lightning had Burnt up those logs that you are enjoin’d to pile! Pray, set it down and rest you. When this burns, ’Twill weep for having wearied you. My father Is hard at study; pray, now, rest yourself: He’s safe for these three hours.
FERDINAND. O most dear mistress, The sun will set, before I shall discharge What I must strive to do.
MIRANDA. If you’ll sit down, I’ll bear your logs the while. Pray give me that; I’ll carry it to the pile.
FERDINAND. No, precious creature; I had rather crack my sinews, break my back, Than you should such dishonour undergo, While I sit lazy by.
MIRANDA. It would become me As well as it does you: and I should do it With much more ease; for my good will is to it, And yours it is against.
PROSPERO. [_Aside._] Poor worm! thou art infected. This visitation shows it.
MIRANDA. You look wearily.
FERDINAND. No, noble mistress; ’tis fresh morning with me When you are by at night. I do beseech you— Chiefly that I might set it in my prayers— What is your name?
MIRANDA. Miranda—O my father! I have broke your hest to say so.
FERDINAND. Admir’d Miranda! Indeed, the top of admiration; worth What’s dearest to the world! Full many a lady I have ey’d with best regard, and many a time Th’ harmony of their tongues hath into bondage Brought my too diligent ear: for several virtues Have I lik’d several women; never any With so full soul but some defect in her Did quarrel with the noblest grace she ow’d, And put it to the foil: but you, O you, So perfect and so peerless, are created Of every creature’s best.
MIRANDA. I do not know One of my sex; no woman’s face remember, Save, from my glass, mine own; nor have I seen More that I may call men than you, good friend, And my dear father: how features are abroad, I am skilless of; but, by my modesty, The jewel in my dower, I would not wish Any companion in the world but you; Nor can imagination form a shape, Besides yourself, to like of. But I prattle Something too wildly, and my father’s precepts I therein do forget.
FERDINAND. I am, in my condition, A prince, Miranda; I do think, a King; I would not so!—and would no more endure This wooden slavery than to suffer The flesh-fly blow my mouth. Hear my soul speak: The very instant that I saw you, did My heart fly to your service; there resides, To make me slave to it; and for your sake Am I this patient log-man.
MIRANDA. Do you love me?
FERDINAND. O heaven, O earth, bear witness to this sound, And crown what I profess with kind event, If I speak true; if hollowly, invert What best is boded me to mischief! I, Beyond all limit of what else i’ the world, Do love, prize, honour you.
MIRANDA. I am a fool To weep at what I am glad of.
PROSPERO. [_Aside._] Fair encounter Of two most rare affections! Heavens rain grace On that which breeds between ’em!
FERDINAND. Wherefore weep you?
MIRANDA. At mine unworthiness, that dare not offer What I desire to give; and much less take What I shall die to want. But this is trifling; And all the more it seeks to hide itself, The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning! And prompt me, plain and holy innocence! I am your wife if you will marry me; If not, I’ll die your maid: to be your fellow You may deny me; but I’ll be your servant, Whether you will or no.
FERDINAND. My mistress, dearest; And I thus humble ever.
MIRANDA. My husband, then?
FERDINAND. Ay, with a heart as willing As bondage e’er of freedom: here’s my hand.
MIRANDA. And mine, with my heart in ’t: and now farewell Till half an hour hence.
FERDINAND. A thousand thousand!
[_Exeunt Ferdinand and Miranda severally._]
PROSPERO. So glad of this as they, I cannot be, Who are surpris’d withal; but my rejoicing At nothing can be more. I’ll to my book; For yet, ere supper time, must I perform Much business appertaining.
[_Exit._]
SCENE II. Another part of the island.
Enter Caliban with a bottle, Stephano and Trinculo.
STEPHANO. Tell not me:—when the butt is out we will drink water; not a drop before: therefore bear up, and board ’em. Servant-monster, drink to me.
TRINCULO. Servant-monster! The folly of this island! They say there’s but five upon this isle; we are three of them; if th’ other two be brained like us, the state totters.
STEPHANO. Drink, servant-monster, when I bid thee: thy eyes are almost set in thy head.
TRINCULO. Where should they be set else? He were a brave monster indeed, if they were set in his tail.
STEPHANO. My man-monster hath drown’d his tongue in sack: for my part, the sea cannot drown me; I swam, ere I could recover the shore, five-and-thirty leagues, off and on, by this light. Thou shalt be my lieutenant, monster, or my standard.
TRINCULO. Your lieutenant, if you list; he’s no standard.
STEPHANO. We’ll not run, Monsieur monster.
TRINCULO. Nor go neither. But you’ll lie like dogs, and yet say nothing neither.
STEPHANO. Moon-calf, speak once in thy life, if thou beest a good moon-calf.
CALIBAN. How does thy honour? Let me lick thy shoe. I’ll not serve him, he is not valiant.
TRINCULO. Thou liest, most ignorant monster: I am in case to justle a constable. Why, thou deboshed fish thou, was there ever man a coward that hath drunk so much sack as I today? Wilt thou tell a monstrous lie, being but half a fish and half a monster?
CALIBAN. Lo, how he mocks me! wilt thou let him, my lord?
TRINCULO. “Lord” quoth he! That a monster should be such a natural!
CALIBAN. Lo, lo again! bite him to death, I prithee.
STEPHANO. Trinculo, keep a good tongue in your head: if you prove a mutineer, the next tree! The poor monster’s my subject, and he shall not suffer indignity.
CALIBAN. I thank my noble lord. Wilt thou be pleas’d to hearken once again to the suit I made to thee?
STEPHANO. Marry. will I. Kneel and repeat it. I will stand, and so shall Trinculo.
Enter Ariel, invisible.
CALIBAN. As I told thee before, I am subject to a tyrant, a sorcerer, that by his cunning hath cheated me of the island.
ARIEL. Thou liest.
CALIBAN. Thou liest, thou jesting monkey, thou; I would my valiant master would destroy thee; I do not lie.
STEPHANO. Trinculo, if you trouble him any more in his tale, by this hand, I will supplant some of your teeth.
TRINCULO. Why, I said nothing.
STEPHANO. Mum, then, and no more. Proceed.
CALIBAN. I say, by sorcery he got this isle; From me he got it. If thy greatness will, Revenge it on him,—for I know thou dar’st; But this thing dare not,—
STEPHANO. That’s most certain.
CALIBAN. Thou shalt be lord of it and I’ll serve thee.
STEPHANO. How now shall this be compassed? Canst thou bring me to the party?
CALIBAN. Yea, yea, my lord: I’ll yield him thee asleep, Where thou mayst knock a nail into his head.
ARIEL. Thou liest. Thou canst not.
CALIBAN. What a pied ninny’s this! Thou scurvy patch! I do beseech thy greatness, give him blows, And take his bottle from him: when that’s gone He shall drink nought but brine; for I’ll not show him Where the quick freshes are.
STEPHANO. Trinculo, run into no further danger: interrupt the monster one word further, and by this hand, I’ll turn my mercy out o’ doors, and make a stock-fish of thee.
TRINCULO. Why, what did I? I did nothing. I’ll go farther off.
STEPHANO. Didst thou not say he lied?
ARIEL. Thou liest.
STEPHANO. Do I so? Take thou that.
[_Strikes Trinculo._]
As you like this, give me the lie another time.
TRINCULO. I did not give the lie. Out o’ your wits and hearing too? A pox o’ your bottle! this can sack and drinking do. A murrain on your monster, and the devil take your fingers!
CALIBAN. Ha, ha, ha!
STEPHANO. Now, forward with your tale.—Prithee stand further off.
CALIBAN. Beat him enough: after a little time, I’ll beat him too.
STEPHANO. Stand farther.—Come, proceed.
CALIBAN. Why, as I told thee, ’tis a custom with him I’ th’ afternoon to sleep: there thou mayst brain him, Having first seiz’d his books; or with a log Batter his skull, or paunch him with a stake, Or cut his wezand with thy knife. Remember First to possess his books; for without them He’s but a sot, as I am, nor hath not One spirit to command: they all do hate him As rootedly as I. Burn but his books. He has brave utensils,—for so he calls them,— Which, when he has a house, he’ll deck withal. And that most deeply to consider is The beauty of his daughter; he himself Calls her a nonpareil: I never saw a woman But only Sycorax my dam and she; But she as far surpasseth Sycorax As great’st does least.
STEPHANO. Is it so brave a lass?
CALIBAN. Ay, lord, she will become thy bed, I warrant, And bring thee forth brave brood.
STEPHANO. Monster, I will kill this man. His daughter and I will be king and queen,—save our graces!—and Trinculo and thyself shall be viceroys. Dost thou like the plot, Trinculo?
TRINCULO. Excellent.
STEPHANO. Give me thy hand: I am sorry I beat thee; but while thou liv’st, keep a good tongue in thy head.
CALIBAN. Within this half hour will he be asleep. Wilt thou destroy him then?
STEPHANO. Ay, on mine honour.
ARIEL. This will I tell my master.
CALIBAN. Thou mak’st me merry. I am full of pleasure. Let us be jocund: will you troll the catch You taught me but while-ere?
STEPHANO. At thy request, monster, I will do reason, any reason. Come on, Trinculo, let us sing.
[_Sings._]
_Flout ’em and cout ’em, and scout ’em and flout ’em: Thought is free._
CALIBAN. That’s not the tune.
[_Ariel plays the tune on a tabor and pipe._]
STEPHANO. What is this same?
TRINCULO. This is the tune of our catch, played by the picture of Nobody.
STEPHANO. If thou beest a man, show thyself in thy likeness: if thou beest a devil, take ’t as thou list.
TRINCULO. O, forgive me my sins!
STEPHANO. He that dies pays all debts: I defy thee. Mercy upon us!
CALIBAN. Art thou afeard?
STEPHANO. No, monster, not I.
CALIBAN. Be not afeard. The isle is full of noises, Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not. Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments Will hum about mine ears; and sometimes voices, That, if I then had wak’d after long sleep, Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming, The clouds methought would open and show riches Ready to drop upon me; that, when I wak’d, I cried to dream again.
STEPHANO. This will prove a brave kingdom to me, where I shall have my music for nothing.
CALIBAN. When Prospero is destroyed.
STEPHANO. That shall be by and by: I remember the story.
TRINCULO. The sound is going away. Let’s follow it, and after do our work.
STEPHANO. Lead, monster: we’ll follow. I would I could see this taborer! he lays it on. Wilt come?
TRINCULO. I’ll follow, Stephano.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE III. Another part of the island.
Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo, Adrian, Francisco, &c.
GONZALO. By ’r lakin, I can go no further, sir; My old bones ache: here’s a maze trod, indeed, Through forth-rights and meanders! By your patience, I needs must rest me.
ALONSO. Old lord, I cannot blame thee, Who am myself attach’d with weariness To th’ dulling of my spirits: sit down, and rest. Even here I will put off my hope, and keep it No longer for my flatterer: he is drown’d Whom thus we stray to find; and the sea mocks Our frustrate search on land. Well, let him go.
ANTONIO. [_Aside to Sebastian._] I am right glad that he’s so out of hope. Do not, for one repulse, forgo the purpose That you resolv’d to effect.
SEBASTIAN. [_Aside to Antonio._] The next advantage Will we take throughly.
ANTONIO. [_Aside to Sebastian._] Let it be tonight; For, now they are oppress’d with travel, they Will not, nor cannot, use such vigilance As when they are fresh.
SEBASTIAN. [_Aside to Antonio._] I say, tonight: no more.
Solemn and strange music: and Prospero above, invisible. Enter several strange Shapes, bringing in a banquet: they dance about it with gentle actions of salutation; and inviting the King &c., to eat, they depart.
ALONSO. What harmony is this? My good friends, hark!
GONZALO. Marvellous sweet music!
ALONSO. Give us kind keepers, heavens! What were these?
SEBASTIAN. A living drollery. Now I will believe That there are unicorns; that in Arabia There is one tree, the phoenix’ throne; one phoenix At this hour reigning there.
ANTONIO. I’ll believe both; And what does else want credit, come to me, And I’ll be sworn ’tis true: travellers ne’er did lie, Though fools at home condemn them.
GONZALO. If in Naples I should report this now, would they believe me? If I should say, I saw such islanders,— For, certes, these are people of the island,— Who, though, they are of monstrous shape, yet, note, Their manners are more gentle, kind, than of Our human generation you shall find Many, nay, almost any.
PROSPERO. [_Aside._] Honest lord, Thou hast said well; for some of you there present Are worse than devils.
ALONSO. I cannot too much muse Such shapes, such gesture, and such sound, expressing— Although they want the use of tongue—a kind Of excellent dumb discourse.
PROSPERO. [_Aside._] Praise in departing.
FRANCISCO. They vanish’d strangely.
SEBASTIAN. No matter, since They have left their viands behind; for we have stomachs.— Will’t please you taste of what is here?
ALONSO. Not I.
GONZALO. Faith, sir, you need not fear. When we were boys, Who would believe that there were mountaineers Dewlapp’d like bulls, whose throats had hanging at ’em Wallets of flesh? Or that there were such men Whose heads stood in their breasts? which now we find Each putter-out of five for one will bring us Good warrant of.
ALONSO. I will stand to, and feed, Although my last, no matter, since I feel The best is past. Brother, my lord the duke, Stand to, and do as we.
Thunder and lightning. Enter Ariel like a Harpy; claps his wings upon the table; and, with a quaint device, the banquet vanishes.
ARIEL. You are three men of sin, whom Destiny, That hath to instrument this lower world And what is in’t,—the never-surfeited sea Hath caused to belch up you; and on this island Where man doth not inhabit; you ’mongst men Being most unfit to live. I have made you mad; And even with such-like valour men hang and drown Their proper selves.
[_Seeing Alonso, Sebastian &c., draw their swords._]
You fools! I and my fellows Are ministers of Fate: the elements Of whom your swords are temper’d may as well Wound the loud winds, or with bemock’d-at stabs Kill the still-closing waters, as diminish One dowle that’s in my plume. My fellow-ministers Are like invulnerable. If you could hurt, Your swords are now too massy for your strengths, And will not be uplifted. But, remember— For that’s my business to you,—that you three From Milan did supplant good Prospero; Expos’d unto the sea, which hath requit it, Him and his innocent child: for which foul deed The powers, delaying, not forgetting, have Incens’d the seas and shores, yea, all the creatures, Against your peace. Thee of thy son, Alonso, They have bereft; and do pronounce, by me Ling’ring perdition,—worse than any death Can be at once,—shall step by step attend You and your ways; whose wraths to guard you from— Which here, in this most desolate isle, else falls Upon your heads,—is nothing but heart-sorrow, And a clear life ensuing.
[_He vanishes in thunder: then, to soft music, enter the Shapes again, and dance, with mocks and mows, and carry out the table._]
PROSPERO. [_Aside._] Bravely the figure of this Harpy hast thou Perform’d, my Ariel; a grace it had, devouring. Of my instruction hast thou nothing bated In what thou hadst to say: so, with good life And observation strange, my meaner ministers Their several kinds have done. My high charms work, And these mine enemies are all knit up In their distractions; they now are in my power; And in these fits I leave them, while I visit Young Ferdinand,—whom they suppose is drown’d,— And his and mine lov’d darling.
[_Exit above._]
GONZALO. I’ the name of something holy, sir, why stand you In this strange stare?
ALONSO. O, it is monstrous! monstrous! Methought the billows spoke, and told me of it; The winds did sing it to me; and the thunder, That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounc’d The name of Prosper: it did bass my trespass. Therefore my son i’ th’ ooze is bedded; and I’ll seek him deeper than e’er plummet sounded, And with him there lie mudded.
[_Exit._]
SEBASTIAN. But one fiend at a time, I’ll fight their legions o’er.
ANTONIO. I’ll be thy second.
[_Exeunt Sebastian and Antonio._]
GONZALO. All three of them are desperate: their great guilt, Like poison given to work a great time after, Now ’gins to bite the spirits. I do beseech you That are of suppler joints, follow them swiftly And hinder them from what this ecstasy May now provoke them to.
ADRIAN. Follow, I pray you.
[_Exeunt._]
ACT IV
SCENE I. Before Prospero’s cell.
Enter Prospero, Ferdinand and Miranda.
PROSPERO. If I have too austerely punish’d you, Your compensation makes amends: for I Have given you here a third of mine own life, Or that for which I live; who once again I tender to thy hand: all thy vexations Were but my trials of thy love, and thou Hast strangely stood the test: here, afore Heaven, I ratify this my rich gift. O Ferdinand, Do not smile at me that I boast her off, For thou shalt find she will outstrip all praise, And make it halt behind her.
FERDINAND. I do believe it Against an oracle.
PROSPERO. Then, as my gift and thine own acquisition Worthily purchas’d, take my daughter: but If thou dost break her virgin knot before All sanctimonious ceremonies may With full and holy rite be minister’d, No sweet aspersion shall the heavens let fall To make this contract grow; but barren hate, Sour-ey’d disdain, and discord shall bestrew The union of your bed with weeds so loathly That you shall hate it both: therefore take heed, As Hymen’s lamps shall light you.
FERDINAND. As I hope For quiet days, fair issue, and long life, With such love as ’tis now, the murkiest den, The most opportune place, the strong’st suggestion Our worser genius can, shall never melt Mine honour into lust, to take away The edge of that day’s celebration, When I shall think, or Phoebus’ steeds are founder’d, Or Night kept chain’d below.
PROSPERO. Fairly spoke: Sit, then, and talk with her, she is thine own. What, Ariel! my industrious servant, Ariel!
Enter Ariel.
ARIEL. What would my potent master? here I am.
PROSPERO. Thou and thy meaner fellows your last service Did worthily perform; and I must use you In such another trick. Go bring the rabble, O’er whom I give thee power, here to this place. Incite them to quick motion; for I must Bestow upon the eyes of this young couple Some vanity of mine art: it is my promise, And they expect it from me.
ARIEL. Presently?
PROSPERO. Ay, with a twink.
ARIEL. Before you can say “Come” and “Go,” And breathe twice, and cry “so, so,” Each one, tripping on his toe, Will be here with mop and mow. Do you love me, master? no?
PROSPERO. Dearly, my delicate Ariel. Do not approach Till thou dost hear me call.
ARIEL. Well, I conceive.
[_Exit._]
PROSPERO. Look thou be true; do not give dalliance Too much the rein: the strongest oaths are straw To th’ fire i’ the blood: be more abstemious, Or else good night your vow!
FERDINAND. I warrant you, sir; The white cold virgin snow upon my heart Abates the ardour of my liver.
PROSPERO. Well. Now come, my Ariel! bring a corollary, Rather than want a spirit: appear, and pertly. No tongue! all eyes! be silent.
[_Soft music._]
A Masque. Enter Iris.
IRIS. Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and peas; Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep, And flat meads thatch’d with stover, them to keep; Thy banks with pioned and twilled brims, Which spongy April at thy hest betrims, To make cold nymphs chaste crowns; and thy broom groves, Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves, Being lass-lorn; thy pole-clipt vineyard; And thy sea-marge, sterile and rocky-hard, Where thou thyself dost air: the Queen o’ th’ sky, Whose wat’ry arch and messenger am I, Bids thee leave these; and with her sovereign grace, Here on this grass-plot, in this very place, To come and sport; her peacocks fly amain: Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain.
Enter Ceres.
CERES. Hail, many-colour’d messenger, that ne’er Dost disobey the wife of Jupiter; Who with thy saffron wings upon my flowers Diffusest honey drops, refreshing showers; And with each end of thy blue bow dost crown My bosky acres and my unshrubb’d down, Rich scarf to my proud earth; why hath thy queen Summon’d me hither to this short-grass’d green?
IRIS. A contract of true love to celebrate, And some donation freely to estate On the blest lovers.
CERES. Tell me, heavenly bow, If Venus or her son, as thou dost know, Do now attend the queen? Since they did plot The means that dusky Dis my daughter got, Her and her blind boy’s scandal’d company I have forsworn.
IRIS. Of her society Be not afraid. I met her deity Cutting the clouds towards Paphos, and her son Dove-drawn with her. Here thought they to have done Some wanton charm upon this man and maid, Whose vows are, that no bed-right shall be paid Till Hymen’s torch be lighted; but in vain. Mars’s hot minion is return’d again; Her waspish-headed son has broke his arrows, Swears he will shoot no more, but play with sparrows, And be a boy right out.
CERES. Highest queen of State, Great Juno comes; I know her by her gait.
Enter Juno.
JUNO. How does my bounteous sister? Go with me To bless this twain, that they may prosperous be, And honour’d in their issue.
[_They sing._]
JUNO. _Honour, riches, marriage-blessing, Long continuance, and increasing, Hourly joys be still upon you! Juno sings her blessings on you._
CERES. _Earth’s increase, foison plenty, Barns and garners never empty; Vines with clust’ring bunches growing; Plants with goodly burden bowing; Spring come to you at the farthest In the very end of harvest! Scarcity and want shall shun you; Ceres’ blessing so is on you._
FERDINAND. This is a most majestic vision, and Harmonious charmingly. May I be bold To think these spirits?
PROSPERO. Spirits, which by mine art I have from their confines call’d to enact My present fancies.
FERDINAND. Let me live here ever. So rare a wonder’d father and a wise, Makes this place Paradise.
[_Juno and Ceres whisper, and send Iris on employment._]
PROSPERO. Sweet now, silence! Juno and Ceres whisper seriously, There’s something else to do: hush, and be mute, Or else our spell is marr’d.
IRIS. You nymphs, call’d Naiads, of the windring brooks, With your sedg’d crowns and ever-harmless looks, Leave your crisp channels, and on this green land Answer your summons; Juno does command. Come, temperate nymphs, and help to celebrate A contract of true love. Be not too late.
Enter certain Nymphs.
You sun-burn’d sicklemen, of August weary, Come hither from the furrow, and be merry: Make holiday: your rye-straw hats put on, And these fresh nymphs encounter every one In country footing.
Enter certain Reapers, properly habited: they join with the Nymphs in a graceful dance; towards the end whereof Prospero starts suddenly, and speaks; after which, to a strange, hollow, and confused noise, they heavily vanish.
PROSPERO. [_Aside._] I had forgot that foul conspiracy Of the beast Caliban and his confederates Against my life: the minute of their plot Is almost come. [_To the Spirits._] Well done! avoid; no more!
FERDINAND. This is strange: your father’s in some passion That works him strongly.
MIRANDA. Never till this day Saw I him touch’d with anger so distemper’d.
PROSPERO. You do look, my son, in a mov’d sort, As if you were dismay’d: be cheerful, sir: Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits and Are melted into air, into thin air: And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep. Sir, I am vex’d: Bear with my weakness; my old brain is troubled. Be not disturb’d with my infirmity. If you be pleas’d, retire into my cell And there repose: a turn or two I’ll walk, To still my beating mind.
FERDINAND, MIRANDA. We wish your peace.
[_Exeunt._]
PROSPERO. Come, with a thought. I thank thee, Ariel. Come!
Enter Ariel.
ARIEL. Thy thoughts I cleave to. What’s thy pleasure?
PROSPERO. Spirit, We must prepare to meet with Caliban.
ARIEL. Ay, my commander. When I presented Ceres, I thought to have told thee of it; but I fear’d Lest I might anger thee.
PROSPERO. Say again, where didst thou leave these varlets?
ARIEL. I told you, sir, they were red-hot with drinking; So full of valour that they smote the air For breathing in their faces; beat the ground For kissing of their feet; yet always bending Towards their project. Then I beat my tabor; At which, like unback’d colts, they prick’d their ears, Advanc’d their eyelids, lifted up their noses As they smelt music: so I charm’d their ears, That calf-like they my lowing follow’d through Tooth’d briers, sharp furzes, pricking goss, and thorns, Which enter’d their frail shins: at last I left them I’ th’ filthy-mantled pool beyond your cell, There dancing up to th’ chins, that the foul lake O’erstunk their feet.
PROSPERO. This was well done, my bird. Thy shape invisible retain thou still: The trumpery in my house, go bring it hither For stale to catch these thieves.
ARIEL. I go, I go.
[_Exit._]
PROSPERO. A devil, a born devil, on whose nature Nurture can never stick; on whom my pains, Humanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost; And as with age his body uglier grows, So his mind cankers. I will plague them all, Even to roaring.
Re-enter Ariel, loaden with glistering apparel, &c.
Come, hang them on this line.
Prospero and Ariel remain invisible. Enter Caliban, Stephano and Trinculo all wet.
CALIBAN. Pray you, tread softly, that the blind mole may not Hear a foot fall: we now are near his cell.
STEPHANO. Monster, your fairy, which you say is a harmless fairy, has done little better than played the Jack with us.
TRINCULO. Monster, I do smell all horse-piss; at which my nose is in great indignation.
STEPHANO. So is mine. Do you hear, monster? If I should take a displeasure against you, look you,—
TRINCULO. Thou wert but a lost monster.
CALIBAN. Good my lord, give me thy favour still. Be patient, for the prize I’ll bring thee to Shall hoodwink this mischance: therefore speak softly. All’s hush’d as midnight yet.
TRINCULO. Ay, but to lose our bottles in the pool!
STEPHANO. There is not only disgrace and dishonour in that, monster, but an infinite loss.
TRINCULO. That’s more to me than my wetting: yet this is your harmless fairy, monster.
STEPHANO. I will fetch off my bottle, though I be o’er ears for my labour.
CALIBAN. Prithee, my King, be quiet. Seest thou here, This is the mouth o’ th’ cell: no noise, and enter. Do that good mischief which may make this island Thine own for ever, and I, thy Caliban, For aye thy foot-licker.
STEPHANO. Give me thy hand. I do begin to have bloody thoughts.
TRINCULO. O King Stephano! O peer! O worthy Stephano! Look what a wardrobe here is for thee!
CALIBAN. Let it alone, thou fool; it is but trash.
TRINCULO. O, ho, monster! we know what belongs to a frippery. O King Stephano!
STEPHANO. Put off that gown, Trinculo; by this hand, I’ll have that gown.
TRINCULO. Thy Grace shall have it.
CALIBAN. The dropsy drown this fool! What do you mean To dote thus on such luggage? Let’t alone, And do the murder first. If he awake, From toe to crown he’ll fill our skins with pinches, Make us strange stuff.
STEPHANO. Be you quiet, monster. Mistress line, is not this my jerkin? Now is the jerkin under the line: now, jerkin, you are like to lose your hair, and prove a bald jerkin.
TRINCULO. Do, do: we steal by line and level, an’t like your Grace.
STEPHANO. I thank thee for that jest. Here’s a garment for ’t: wit shall not go unrewarded while I am King of this country. “Steal by line and level,” is an excellent pass of pate. There’s another garment for ’t.
TRINCULO. Monster, come, put some lime upon your fingers, and away with the rest.
CALIBAN. I will have none on’t. We shall lose our time, And all be turn’d to barnacles, or to apes With foreheads villainous low.
STEPHANO. Monster, lay-to your fingers: help to bear this away where my hogshead of wine is, or I’ll turn you out of my kingdom. Go to, carry this.
TRINCULO. And this.
STEPHANO. Ay, and this.
A noise of hunters heard. Enter divers Spirits, in shape of dogs and hounds, and hunt them about; Prospero and Ariel setting them on.
PROSPERO. Hey, Mountain, hey!
ARIEL. Silver! there it goes, Silver!
PROSPERO. Fury, Fury! There, Tyrant, there! hark, hark!
[_Caliban, Stephano and Trinculo are driven out._]
Go, charge my goblins that they grind their joints With dry convulsions; shorten up their sinews With aged cramps, and more pinch-spotted make them Than pard, or cat o’ mountain.
ARIEL. Hark, they roar.
PROSPERO. Let them be hunted soundly. At this hour Lies at my mercy all mine enemies. Shortly shall all my labours end, and thou Shalt have the air at freedom. For a little Follow, and do me service.
[_Exeunt._]
ACT V
SCENE I. Before the cell of Prospero.
Enter Prospero in his magic robes, and Ariel.
PROSPERO. Now does my project gather to a head: My charms crack not; my spirits obey, and time Goes upright with his carriage. How’s the day?
ARIEL. On the sixth hour; at which time, my lord, You said our work should cease.
PROSPERO. I did say so, When first I rais’d the tempest. Say, my spirit, How fares the King and ’s followers?
ARIEL. Confin’d together In the same fashion as you gave in charge, Just as you left them; all prisoners, sir, In the line grove which weather-fends your cell; They cannot budge till your release. The King, His brother, and yours, abide all three distracted, And the remainder mourning over them, Brimful of sorrow and dismay; but chiefly Him you term’d, sir, “the good old lord, Gonzalo”. His tears run down his beard, like winter’s drops From eaves of reeds; your charm so strongly works ’em, That if you now beheld them, your affections Would become tender.
PROSPERO. Dost thou think so, spirit?
ARIEL. Mine would, sir, were I human.
PROSPERO. And mine shall. Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling Of their afflictions, and shall not myself, One of their kind, that relish all as sharply Passion as they, be kindlier mov’d than thou art? Though with their high wrongs I am struck to th’ quick, Yet with my nobler reason ’gainst my fury Do I take part: the rarer action is In virtue than in vengeance: they being penitent, The sole drift of my purpose doth extend Not a frown further. Go release them, Ariel. My charms I’ll break, their senses I’ll restore, And they shall be themselves.
ARIEL. I’ll fetch them, sir.
[_Exit._]
PROSPERO. Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and groves; And ye that on the sands with printless foot Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him When he comes back; you demi-puppets that By moonshine do the green sour ringlets make, Whereof the ewe not bites; and you whose pastime Is to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoice To hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid, Weak masters though ye be, I have bedimm’d The noontide sun, call’d forth the mutinous winds, And ’twixt the green sea and the azur’d vault Set roaring war: to the dread rattling thunder Have I given fire, and rifted Jove’s stout oak With his own bolt; the strong-bas’d promontory Have I made shake, and by the spurs pluck’d up The pine and cedar: graves at my command Have wak’d their sleepers, op’d, and let ’em forth By my so potent art. But this rough magic I here abjure; and, when I have requir’d Some heavenly music,—which even now I do,— To work mine end upon their senses that This airy charm is for, I’ll break my staff, Bury it certain fathoms in the earth, And deeper than did ever plummet sound I’ll drown my book.
[_Solemn music._]
Re-enter Ariel: after him, Alonso with a frantic gesture, attended by Gonzalo, Sebastian and Antonio in like manner, attended by Adrian and Francisco: they all enter the circle which Prospero had made, and there stand charmed; which Prospero observing, speaks.
A solemn air, and the best comforter To an unsettled fancy, cure thy brains, Now useless, boil’d within thy skull! There stand, For you are spell-stopp’d. Holy Gonzalo, honourable man, Mine eyes, e’en sociable to the show of thine, Fall fellowly drops. The charm dissolves apace; And as the morning steals upon the night, Melting the darkness, so their rising senses Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle Their clearer reason. O good Gonzalo! My true preserver, and a loyal sir To him thou follow’st, I will pay thy graces Home, both in word and deed. Most cruelly Didst thou, Alonso, use me and my daughter: Thy brother was a furtherer in the act. Thou art pinch’d for ’t now, Sebastian. Flesh and blood, You, brother mine, that entertain’d ambition, Expell’d remorse and nature, who, with Sebastian,— Whose inward pinches therefore are most strong, Would here have kill’d your King; I do forgive thee, Unnatural though thou art. Their understanding Begins to swell, and the approaching tide Will shortly fill the reasonable shores That now lie foul and muddy. Not one of them That yet looks on me, or would know me. Ariel, Fetch me the hat and rapier in my cell.
[_Exit Ariel._]
I will discase me, and myself present As I was sometime Milan. Quickly, spirit; Thou shalt ere long be free.
Ariel re-enters, singing, and helps to attire Prospero.
ARIEL _Where the bee sucks, there suck I: In a cowslip’s bell I lie; There I couch when owls do cry. On the bat’s back I do fly After summer merrily. Merrily, merrily shall I live now Under the blossom that hangs on the bough._
PROSPERO. Why, that’s my dainty Ariel! I shall miss thee; But yet thou shalt have freedom; so, so, so. To the King’s ship, invisible as thou art: There shalt thou find the mariners asleep Under the hatches; the master and the boatswain Being awake, enforce them to this place, And presently, I prithee.
ARIEL. I drink the air before me, and return Or ere your pulse twice beat.
[_Exit._]
GONZALO. All torment, trouble, wonder and amazement Inhabits here. Some heavenly power guide us Out of this fearful country!
PROSPERO. Behold, sir King, The wronged Duke of Milan, Prospero. For more assurance that a living prince Does now speak to thee, I embrace thy body; And to thee and thy company I bid A hearty welcome.
ALONSO. Whe’er thou be’st he or no, Or some enchanted trifle to abuse me, As late I have been, I not know: thy pulse Beats, as of flesh and blood; and, since I saw thee, Th’ affliction of my mind amends, with which, I fear, a madness held me: this must crave, An if this be at all, a most strange story. Thy dukedom I resign, and do entreat Thou pardon me my wrongs. But how should Prospero Be living and be here?
PROSPERO. First, noble friend, Let me embrace thine age, whose honour cannot Be measur’d or confin’d.
GONZALO. Whether this be Or be not, I’ll not swear.
PROSPERO. You do yet taste Some subtleties o’ the isle, that will not let you Believe things certain. Welcome, my friends all. [_Aside to Sebastian and Antonio._] But you, my brace of lords, were I so minded, I here could pluck his highness’ frown upon you, And justify you traitors: at this time I will tell no tales.
SEBASTIAN. [_Aside._] The devil speaks in him.
PROSPERO. No. For you, most wicked sir, whom to call brother Would even infect my mouth, I do forgive Thy rankest fault, all of them; and require My dukedom of thee, which perforce I know Thou must restore.
ALONSO. If thou beest Prospero, Give us particulars of thy preservation; How thou hast met us here, whom three hours since Were wrack’d upon this shore; where I have lost,— How sharp the point of this remembrance is!— My dear son Ferdinand.
PROSPERO. I am woe for ’t, sir.
ALONSO. Irreparable is the loss, and patience Says it is past her cure.
PROSPERO. I rather think You have not sought her help, of whose soft grace, For the like loss I have her sovereign aid, And rest myself content.
ALONSO. You the like loss!
PROSPERO. As great to me, as late; and, supportable To make the dear loss, have I means much weaker Than you may call to comfort you, for I Have lost my daughter.
ALONSO. A daughter? O heavens, that they were living both in Naples, The King and Queen there! That they were, I wish Myself were mudded in that oozy bed Where my son lies. When did you lose your daughter?
PROSPERO. In this last tempest. I perceive, these lords At this encounter do so much admire That they devour their reason, and scarce think Their eyes do offices of truth, their words Are natural breath; but, howsoe’er you have Been justled from your senses, know for certain That I am Prospero, and that very duke Which was thrust forth of Milan; who most strangely Upon this shore, where you were wrack’d, was landed To be the lord on’t. No more yet of this; For ’tis a chronicle of day by day, Not a relation for a breakfast nor Befitting this first meeting. Welcome, sir. This cell’s my court: here have I few attendants, And subjects none abroad: pray you, look in. My dukedom since you have given me again, I will requite you with as good a thing; At least bring forth a wonder, to content ye As much as me my dukedom.
Here Prospero discovers Ferdinand and Miranda playing at chess.
MIRANDA. Sweet lord, you play me false.
FERDINAND. No, my dearest love, I would not for the world.
MIRANDA. Yes, for a score of kingdoms you should wrangle, And I would call it fair play.
ALONSO. If this prove A vision of the island, one dear son Shall I twice lose.
SEBASTIAN. A most high miracle!
FERDINAND. Though the seas threaten, they are merciful. I have curs’d them without cause.
[_Kneels to Alonso._]
ALONSO. Now all the blessings Of a glad father compass thee about! Arise, and say how thou cam’st here.
MIRANDA. O, wonder! How many goodly creatures are there here! How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world That has such people in ’t!
PROSPERO. ’Tis new to thee.
ALONSO. What is this maid, with whom thou wast at play? Your eld’st acquaintance cannot be three hours: Is she the goddess that hath sever’d us, And brought us thus together?
FERDINAND. Sir, she is mortal; But by immortal Providence she’s mine. I chose her when I could not ask my father For his advice, nor thought I had one. She Is daughter to this famous Duke of Milan, Of whom so often I have heard renown, But never saw before; of whom I have Receiv’d a second life; and second father This lady makes him to me.
ALONSO. I am hers: But, O, how oddly will it sound that I Must ask my child forgiveness!
PROSPERO. There, sir, stop: Let us not burden our remembrances with A heaviness that’s gone.
GONZALO. I have inly wept, Or should have spoke ere this. Look down, you gods, And on this couple drop a blessed crown; For it is you that have chalk’d forth the way Which brought us hither.
ALONSO. I say, Amen, Gonzalo!
GONZALO. Was Milan thrust from Milan, that his issue Should become Kings of Naples? O, rejoice Beyond a common joy, and set it down With gold on lasting pillars: in one voyage Did Claribel her husband find at Tunis, And Ferdinand, her brother, found a wife Where he himself was lost; Prospero his dukedom In a poor isle; and all of us ourselves, When no man was his own.
ALONSO. [_To Ferdinand and Miranda._] Give me your hands: Let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart That doth not wish you joy!
GONZALO. Be it so. Amen!
Re-enter Ariel with the Master and Boatswain amazedly following.
O look, sir, look, sir! Here are more of us. I prophesied, if a gallows were on land, This fellow could not drown. Now, blasphemy, That swear’st grace o’erboard, not an oath on shore? Hast thou no mouth by land? What is the news?
BOATSWAIN. The best news is that we have safely found Our King and company. The next, our ship,— Which but three glasses since, we gave out split, Is tight and yare, and bravely rigg’d as when We first put out to sea.
ARIEL. [_Aside to Prospero._] Sir, all this service Have I done since I went.
PROSPERO. [_Aside to Ariel._] My tricksy spirit!
ALONSO. These are not natural events; they strengthen From strange to stranger. Say, how came you hither?
BOATSWAIN. If I did think, sir, I were well awake, I’d strive to tell you. We were dead of sleep, And,—how, we know not,—all clapp’d under hatches, Where, but even now, with strange and several noises Of roaring, shrieking, howling, jingling chains, And mo diversity of sounds, all horrible, We were awak’d; straightway, at liberty: Where we, in all her trim, freshly beheld Our royal, good, and gallant ship; our master Cap’ring to eye her. On a trice, so please you, Even in a dream, were we divided from them, And were brought moping hither.
ARIEL. [_Aside to Prospero._] Was’t well done?
PROSPERO. [_Aside to Ariel._] Bravely, my diligence. Thou shalt be free.
ALONSO. This is as strange a maze as e’er men trod; And there is in this business more than nature Was ever conduct of: some oracle Must rectify our knowledge.
PROSPERO. Sir, my liege, Do not infest your mind with beating on The strangeness of this business. At pick’d leisure, Which shall be shortly, single I’ll resolve you, Which to you shall seem probable, of every These happen’d accidents; till when, be cheerful And think of each thing well. [_Aside to Ariel._] Come hither, spirit; Set Caliban and his companions free; Untie the spell.
[_Exit Ariel._]
How fares my gracious sir? There are yet missing of your company Some few odd lads that you remember not.
Re-enter Ariel driving in Caliban, Stephano and Trinculo in their stolen apparel.
STEPHANO. Every man shift for all the rest, and let no man take care for himself, for all is but fortune.—Coragio! bully-monster, coragio!
TRINCULO. If these be true spies which I wear in my head, here’s a goodly sight.
CALIBAN. O Setebos, these be brave spirits indeed. How fine my master is! I am afraid He will chastise me.
SEBASTIAN. Ha, ha! What things are these, my lord Antonio? Will money buy them?
ANTONIO. Very like; one of them Is a plain fish, and, no doubt, marketable.
PROSPERO. Mark but the badges of these men, my lords, Then say if they be true. This mis-shapen knave, His mother was a witch; and one so strong That could control the moon, make flows and ebbs, And deal in her command without her power. These three have robb’d me; and this demi-devil, For he’s a bastard one, had plotted with them To take my life. Two of these fellows you Must know and own; this thing of darkness I Acknowledge mine.
CALIBAN. I shall be pinch’d to death.
ALONSO. Is not this Stephano, my drunken butler?
SEBASTIAN. He is drunk now: where had he wine?
ALONSO. And Trinculo is reeling-ripe: where should they Find this grand liquor that hath gilded ’em? How cam’st thou in this pickle?
TRINCULO. I have been in such a pickle since I saw you last that, I fear me, will never out of my bones. I shall not fear fly-blowing.
SEBASTIAN. Why, how now, Stephano!
STEPHANO. O! touch me not. I am not Stephano, but a cramp.
PROSPERO. You’d be King o’ the isle, sirrah?
STEPHANO. I should have been a sore one, then.
ALONSO. This is as strange a thing as e’er I look’d on.
[_Pointing to Caliban._]
PROSPERO. He is as disproportioned in his manners As in his shape. Go, sirrah, to my cell; Take with you your companions. As you look To have my pardon, trim it handsomely.
CALIBAN. Ay, that I will; and I’ll be wise hereafter, And seek for grace. What a thrice-double ass Was I, to take this drunkard for a god, And worship this dull fool!
PROSPERO. Go to; away!
ALONSO. Hence, and bestow your luggage where you found it.
SEBASTIAN. Or stole it, rather.
[_Exeunt Caliban, Stephano and Trinculo._]
PROSPERO. Sir, I invite your Highness and your train To my poor cell, where you shall take your rest For this one night; which, part of it, I’ll waste With such discourse as, I not doubt, shall make it Go quick away: the story of my life And the particular accidents gone by Since I came to this isle: and in the morn I’ll bring you to your ship, and so to Naples, Where I have hope to see the nuptial Of these our dear-belov’d solemnized; And thence retire me to my Milan, where Every third thought shall be my grave.
ALONSO. I long To hear the story of your life, which must Take the ear strangely.
PROSPERO. I’ll deliver all; And promise you calm seas, auspicious gales, And sail so expeditious that shall catch Your royal fleet far off. [_Aside to Ariel._] My Ariel, chick, That is thy charge: then to the elements Be free, and fare thou well! Please you, draw near.
[_Exeunt._]
EPILOGUE
PROSPERO. Now my charms are all o’erthrown, And what strength I have’s mine own, Which is most faint. Now ’tis true, I must be here confin’d by you, Or sent to Naples. Let me not, Since I have my dukedom got, And pardon’d the deceiver, dwell In this bare island by your spell, But release me from my bands With the help of your good hands. Gentle breath of yours my sails Must fill, or else my project fails, Which was to please. Now I want Spirits to enforce, art to enchant; And my ending is despair, Unless I be reliev’d by prayer, Which pierces so that it assaults Mercy itself, and frees all faults. As you from crimes would pardon’d be, Let your indulgence set me free.
[_Exit._]
THE LIFE OF TIMON OF ATHENS
Contents
ACT I Scene I. Athens. A hall in Timon’s house Scene II. The Same. A room of state in Timon’s house
ACT II Scene I. Athens. A room in a senator’s house Scene II. The same. A hall in Timon’s house
ACT III Scene I. Athens. A room in Lucullus’ house Scene II. A public place Scene III. The same. A room in Sempronius’ house Scene IV. A hall in Timon’s house Scene V. The same. The senate house Scene VI. A room of state in Timon’s house
ACT IV Scene I. Without the walls of Athens Scene II. Athens. A room in Timon’s house Scene III. Woods and caves near the sea-shore
ACT V Scene I. The woods. Before Timon’s cave Scene III. The same Scene III. Before the walls of Athens Scene IV. The woods. Timon’s cave, and a rude tomb seen Scene V. Before the walls of Athens
Dramatis Personæ
TIMON, a noble Athenian FLAVIUS, steward to Timon FLAMINIUS, servant to Timon LUCILIUS, servant to Timon SERVILIUS, servant to Timon
APEMANTUS, a churlish philosopher ALCIBIADES, an Athenian captain PHRYNIA, mistress to Alcibiades TIMANDRA, mistress to Alcibiades
LUCIUS, friend of Timon LUCULLUS, friend of Timon SEMPRONIUS, friend of Timon VENTIDIUS, friend of Timon
CAPHIS, servant of Timon’s creditors SERVANT of Isidore Two SERVANTS of Varro TITUS, servant of Timon’s creditors HORTENSIUS, servant of Timon’s creditors LUCIUS, servant of Timon’s creditors PHILOTUS, servant of Timon’s creditors
LORDS and SENATORS of Athens Three STRANGERS, one called HOSTILIUS An OLD ATHENIAN POET PAINTER JEWELLER MERCHANT A FOOL A PAGE
CUPID and Amazons in the Masque
BANDITTI
Officers, Soldiers, Servants, Thieves, Messengers and Attendants
SCENE. Athens, and the neighbouring woods
ACT I
SCENE I. Athens. A hall in Timon’s house
Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller and Merchant at several doors.
POET. Good day, sir.
PAINTER. I am glad you’re well.
POET. I have not seen you long. How goes the world?
PAINTER. It wears, sir, as it grows.
POET. Ay, that’s well known. But what particular rarity? What strange, Which manifold record not matches? See, Magic of bounty, all these spirits thy power Hath conjured to attend! I know the merchant.
PAINTER. I know them both. Th’ other’s a jeweller.
MERCHANT. O, ’tis a worthy lord!
JEWELLER. Nay, that’s most fixed.
MERCHANT. A most incomparable man, breathed, as it were, To an untirable and continuate goodness. He passes.
JEWELLER. I have a jewel here—
MERCHANT. O, pray let’s see’t. For the Lord Timon, sir?
JEWELLER. If he will touch the estimate. But for that—
POET. When we for recompense have praised the vile, It stains the glory in that happy verse Which aptly sings the good.
MERCHANT. [_Looking at the jewel_.] ’Tis a good form.
JEWELLER. And rich. Here is a water, look ye.
PAINTER. You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedication To the great lord.
POET. A thing slipped idly from me. Our poesy is as a gum which oozes From whence ’tis nourished. The fire i’ th’ flint Shows not till it be struck; our gentle flame Provokes itself and, like the current, flies Each bound it chases. What have you there?
PAINTER. A picture, sir. When comes your book forth?
POET. Upon the heels of my presentment, sir. Let’s see your piece.
PAINTER. ’Tis a good piece.
POET. So ’tis. This comes off well and excellent.
PAINTER. Indifferent.
POET. Admirable! How this grace Speaks his own standing! What a mental power This eye shoots forth! How big imagination Moves in this lip! To th’ dumbness of the gesture One might interpret.
PAINTER. It is a pretty mocking of the life. Here is a touch. Is’t good?
POET. I’ll say of it, It tutors nature. Artificial strife Lives in these touches livelier than life.
Enter certain Senators, who pass over the stage.
PAINTER. How this lord is followed!
POET. The senators of Athens, happy men!
PAINTER. Look, more!
POET. You see this confluence, this great flood of visitors. I have in this rough work shaped out a man Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug With amplest entertainment. My free drift Halts not particularly, but moves itself In a wide sea of wax. No levelled malice Infects one comma in the course I hold, But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on, Leaving no tract behind.
PAINTER. How shall I understand you?
POET. I will unbolt to you. You see how all conditions, how all minds, As well of glib and slipp’ry creatures as Of grave and austere quality, tender down Their services to Lord Timon. His large fortune, Upon his good and gracious nature hanging, Subdues and properties to his love and tendance All sorts of hearts; yea, from the glass-faced flatterer To Apemantus, that few things loves better Than to abhor himself; even he drops down The knee before him and returns in peace Most rich in Timon’s nod.
PAINTER. I saw them speak together.
POET. Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill Feigned Fortune to be throned. The base o’ th’ mount Is ranked with all deserts, all kind of natures That labour on the bosom of this sphere To propagate their states. Amongst them all Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady fixed, One do I personate of Lord Timon’s frame, Whom Fortune with her ivory hand wafts to her, Whose present grace to present slaves and servants Translates his rivals.
PAINTER. ’Tis conceived to scope. This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks, With one man beckoned from the rest below, Bowing his head against the steepy mount To climb his happiness, would be well expressed In our condition.
POET. Nay, sir, but hear me on. All those which were his fellows but of late, Some better than his value, on the moment Follow his strides, his lobbies fill with tendance, Rain sacrificial whisperings in his ear, Make sacred even his stirrup, and through him Drink the free air.
PAINTER. Ay, marry, what of these?
POET. When Fortune in her shift and change of mood Spurns down her late beloved, all his dependants, Which laboured after him to the mountain’s top Even on their knees and hands, let him slip down, Not one accompanying his declining foot.
PAINTER. ’Tis common. A thousand moral paintings I can show That shall demonstrate these quick blows of Fortune’s More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well To show Lord Timon that mean eyes have seen The foot above the head.
Trumpets sound. Enter Lord Timon, addressing himself courteously to every suitor. He is accompanied by a Messenger; Lucilius and other servants follow.
TIMON. Imprisoned is he, say you?
MESSENGER. Ay, my good lord. Five talents is his debt, His means most short, his creditors most strait. Your honourable letter he desires To those have shut him up, which, failing, Periods his comfort.
TIMON. Noble Ventidius. Well, I am not of that feather to shake off My friend when he must need me. I do know him A gentleman that well deserves a help, Which he shall have. I’ll pay the debt and free him.
MESSENGER. Your lordship ever binds him.
TIMON. Commend me to him, I will send his ransom; And, being enfranchised, bid him come to me. ’Tis not enough to help the feeble up, But to support him after. Fare you well.
MESSENGER. All happiness to your honour.
[_Exit._]
Enter an Old Athenian.
OLD ATHENIAN. Lord Timon, hear me speak.
TIMON. Freely, good father.
OLD ATHENIAN. Thou hast a servant named Lucilius.
TIMON. I have so. What of him?
OLD ATHENIAN. Most noble Timon, call the man before thee.
TIMON. Attends he here or no? Lucilius!
LUCILIUS. Here, at your lordship’s service.
OLD ATHENIAN. This fellow here, Lord Timon, this thy creature, By night frequents my house. I am a man That from my first have been inclined to thrift, And my estate deserves an heir more raised Than one which holds a trencher.
TIMON. Well, what further?
OLD ATHENIAN. One only daughter have I, no kin else, On whom I may confer what I have got. The maid is fair, o’ th’ youngest for a bride, And I have bred her at my dearest cost In qualities of the best. This man of thine Attempts her love. I prithee, noble lord, Join with me to forbid him her resort; Myself have spoke in vain.
TIMON. The man is honest.
OLD ATHENIAN. Therefore he will be, Timon. His honesty rewards him in itself; It must not bear my daughter.
TIMON. Does she love him?
OLD ATHENIAN. She is young and apt. Our own precedent passions do instruct us What levity’s in youth.
TIMON. [_To Lucilius_.] Love you the maid?
LUCILIUS. Ay, my good lord, and she accepts of it.
OLD ATHENIAN. If in her marriage my consent be missing, I call the gods to witness, I will choose Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world And dispossess her all.
TIMON. How shall she be endowed, If she be mated with an equal husband?
OLD ATHENIAN. Three talents on the present; in future, all.
TIMON. This gentleman of mine hath served me long. To build his fortune I will strain a little, For ’tis a bond in men. Give him thy daughter. What you bestow, in him I’ll counterpoise, And make him weigh with her.
OLD ATHENIAN. Most noble lord, Pawn me to this your honour, she is his.
TIMON. My hand to thee; mine honour on my promise.
LUCILIUS. Humbly I thank your lordship. Never may That state or fortune fall into my keeping Which is not owed to you.
[_Exeunt Lucilius and Old Athenian._]
POET. [_Presenting his poem_.] Vouchsafe my labour, and long live your lordship.
TIMON. I thank you, you shall hear from me anon. Go not away.—What have you there, my friend?
PAINTER. A piece of painting, which I do beseech Your lordship to accept.
TIMON. Painting is welcome. The painting is almost the natural man, For since dishonour traffics with man’s nature, He is but outside; these pencilled figures are Even such as they give out. I like your work, And you shall find I like it. Wait attendance Till you hear further from me.
PAINTER. The gods preserve you.
TIMON. Well fare you, gentleman. Give me your hand. We must needs dine together. Sir, your jewel Hath suffered under praise.
JEWELLER. What, my lord, dispraise?
TIMON. A mere satiety of commendations. If I should pay you for ’t as ’tis extolled, It would unclew me quite.
JEWELLER. My lord, ’tis rated As those which sell would give. But you well know Things of like value, differing in the owners, Are prized by their masters. Believe’t, dear lord, You mend the jewel by the wearing it.
TIMON. Well mocked.
MERCHANT. No, my good lord, he speaks the common tongue, Which all men speak with him.
Enter Apemantus.
TIMON. Look who comes here. Will you be chid?
JEWELLER. We’ll bear, with your lordship.
MERCHANT. He’ll spare none.
TIMON. Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus.
APEMANTUS. Till I be gentle, stay thou for thy good morrow— When thou art Timon’s dog, and these knaves honest.
TIMON. Why dost thou call them knaves? Thou know’st them not.
APEMANTUS. Are they not Athenians?
TIMON. Yes.
APEMANTUS. Then I repent not.
JEWELLER. You know me, Apemantus?
APEMANTUS. Thou know’st I do, I called thee by thy name.
TIMON. Thou art proud, Apemantus.
APEMANTUS. Of nothing so much as that I am not like Timon.
TIMON. Whither art going?
APEMANTUS. To knock out an honest Athenian’s brains.
TIMON. That’s a deed thou’lt die for.
APEMANTUS. Right, if doing nothing be death by th’ law.
TIMON. How lik’st thou this picture, Apemantus?
APEMANTUS. The best, for the innocence.
TIMON. Wrought he not well that painted it?
APEMANTUS. He wrought better that made the painter, and yet he’s but a filthy piece of work.
PAINTER. You’re a dog.
APEMANTUS. Thy mother’s of my generation. What’s she, if I be a dog?
TIMON. Wilt dine with me, Apemantus?
APEMANTUS. No, I eat not lords.
TIMON. An thou shouldst, thou’dst anger ladies.
APEMANTUS. O, they eat lords. So they come by great bellies.
TIMON. That’s a lascivious apprehension.
APEMANTUS. So thou apprehend’st it, take it for thy labour.
TIMON. How dost thou like this jewel, Apemantus?
APEMANTUS. Not so well as plain-dealing, which will not cost a man a doit.
TIMON. What dost thou think ’tis worth?
APEMANTUS. Not worth my thinking. How now, poet?
POET. How now, philosopher?
APEMANTUS. Thou liest.
POET. Art not one?
APEMANTUS. Yes.
POET. Then I lie not.
APEMANTUS. Art not a poet?
POET. Yes.
APEMANTUS. Then thou liest. Look in thy last work, where thou hast feigned him a worthy fellow.
POET. That’s not feigned, he is so.
APEMANTUS. Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay thee for thy labour. He that loves to be flattered is worthy o’ th’ flatterer. Heavens, that I were a lord!
TIMON. What wouldst do then, Apemantus?
APEMANTUS. E’en as Apemantus does now, hate a lord with my heart.
TIMON. What, thyself?
APEMANTUS. Ay.
TIMON. Wherefore?
APEMANTUS. That I had no angry wit to be a lord. Art not thou a merchant?
MERCHANT. Ay, Apemantus.
APEMANTUS. Traffic confound thee, if the gods will not.
MERCHANT. If traffic do it, the gods do it.
APEMANTUS. Traffic’s thy god, and thy god confound thee!
Trumpet sounds. Enter a Messenger.
TIMON. What trumpet’s that?
MESSENGER. ’Tis Alcibiades, and some twenty horse, All of companionship.
TIMON. Pray entertain them, give them guide to us.
[_Exeunt some Attendants._]
You must needs dine with me. Go not you hence Till I have thanked you; when dinner’s done, Show me this piece. I am joyful of your sights.
Enter Alcibiades with his company.
Most welcome, sir.
[_They bow to each other._]
APEMANTUS. [_Aside_.] So, so, there! Aches contract and starve your supple joints! That there should be small love amongst these sweet knaves, And all this courtesy! The strain of man’s bred out Into baboon and monkey.
ALCIBIADES. Sir, you have saved my longing, and I feed Most hungerly on your sight.
TIMON. Right welcome, sir! Ere we depart we’ll share a bounteous time In different pleasures. Pray you, let us in.
[_Exeunt all but Apemantus._]
Enter two Lords.
FIRST LORD. What time o’ day is’t, Apemantus?
APEMANTUS. Time to be honest.
FIRST LORD. That time serves still.
APEMANTUS. The more accursed thou, that still omitt’st it.
SECOND LORD. Thou art going to Lord Timon’s feast?
APEMANTUS. Ay, to see meat fill knaves and wine heat fools.
SECOND LORD. Fare thee well, fare thee well.
APEMANTUS. Thou art a fool to bid me farewell twice.
SECOND LORD. Why, Apemantus?
APEMANTUS. Shouldst have kept one to thyself, for I mean to give thee none.
FIRST LORD. Hang thyself!
APEMANTUS. No, I will do nothing at thy bidding. Make thy requests to thy friend.
SECOND LORD. Away, unpeaceable dog, or I’ll spurn thee hence.
APEMANTUS. I will fly, like a dog, the heels o’ th’ ass.
[_Exit._]
FIRST LORD. He’s opposite to humanity. Come, shall we in And taste Lord Timon’s bounty? He outgoes The very heart of kindness.
SECOND LORD. He pours it out; Plutus, the god of gold, Is but his steward. No meed but he repays Sevenfold above itself, no gift to him But breeds the giver a return exceeding All use of quittance.
FIRST LORD. The noblest mind he carries That ever governed man.
SECOND LORD. Long may he live in fortunes. Shall we in?
FIRST LORD. I’ll keep you company.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE II. The Same. A room of state in Timon’s house
Hautboys playing loud music. A great banquet served in, Flavius and others attending; and then enter Lord Timon, the Senators, the Athenian Lords, Alcibiades, and Ventidius, which Timon redeemded from prison. Then comes, dropping after all, Apemantus, discontentedly, like himself.
VENTIDIUS. Most honoured Timon, It hath pleased the gods to remember my father’s age And call him to long peace. He is gone happy and has left me rich. Then, as in grateful virtue I am bound To your free heart, I do return those talents, Doubled with thanks and service, from whose help I derived liberty.
TIMON. O, by no means, Honest Ventidius. You mistake my love. I gave it freely ever, and there’s none Can truly say he gives if he receives. If our betters play at that game, we must not dare To imitate them; faults that are rich are fair.
VENTIDIUS. A noble spirit!
TIMON. Nay, my lords, ceremony was but devised at first To set a gloss on faint deeds, hollow welcomes, Recanting goodness, sorry ere ’tis shown; But where there is true friendship there needs none. Pray, sit, more welcome are ye to my fortunes Than my fortunes to me.
[_They sit._]
FIRST LORD. My lord, we always have confessed it.
APEMANTUS. Ho, ho, confessed it? Hanged it, have you not?
TIMON. O Apemantus, you are welcome.
APEMANTUS. No, You shall not make me welcome. I come to have thee thrust me out of doors.
TIMON. Fie, thou’rt a churl, ye’ve got a humour there Does not become a man; ’tis much to blame. They say, my lords, _ira furor brevis est_, But yond man is ever angry. Go, let him have a table by himself, For he does neither affect company, Nor is he fit for it indeed.
APEMANTUS. Let me stay at thine apperil, Timon. I come to observe; I give thee warning on’t.
TIMON. I take no heed of thee. Thou’rt an Athenian, therefore, welcome. I myself would have no power; prithee; let my meat make thee silent.
APEMANTUS. I scorn thy meat, ’twould choke me, for I should ne’er flatter thee. O you gods, what a number of men eats Timon, and he sees ’em not! It grieves me to see so many dip their meat in one man’s blood; and all the madness is, he cheers them up too. I wonder men dare trust themselves with men. Methinks they should invite them without knives. Good for their meat, and safer for their lives. There’s much example for ’t. The fellow that sits next him, now parts bread with him, pledges the breath of him in a divided draft, is the readiest man to kill him. ’T has been proved. If I were a huge man, I should fear to drink at meals, Lest they should spy my wind-pipe’s dangerous notes. Great men should drink with harness on their throats.
TIMON. My lord, in heart, and let the health go round.
SECOND LORD. Let it flow this way, my good lord.
APEMANTUS. Flow this way? A brave fellow! He keeps his tides well. Those healths will make thee and thy state look ill, Timon. Here’s that which is too weak to be a sinner, Honest water, which ne’er left man i’ the mire. This and my food are equals, there’s no odds. Feasts are too proud to give thanks to the gods.
_Apemantus’ grace_
Immortal gods, I crave no pelf, I pray for no man but myself. Grant I may never prove so fond To trust man on his oath or bond, Or a harlot for her weeping, Or a dog that seems a-sleeping, Or a keeper with my freedom, Or my friends if I should need ’em. Amen. So fall to’t. Rich men sin, and I eat root.
[_He eats and drinks._]
Much good dich thy good heart, Apemantus!
TIMON. Captain Alcibiades, your heart’s in the field now.
ALCIBIADES. My heart is ever at your service, my lord.
TIMON. You had rather be at a breakfast of enemies than a dinner of friends.
ALCIBIADES. So they were bleeding new, my lord, there’s no meat like ’em. I could wish my best friend at such a feast.
APEMANTUS. Would all those flatterers were thine enemies then, that then thou mightst kill ’em, and bid me to ’em.
FIRST LORD. Might we but have that happiness, my lord, that you would once use our hearts, whereby we might express some part of our zeals, we should think ourselves for ever perfect.
TIMON. O, no doubt, my good friends, but the gods themselves have provided that I shall have much help from you. How had you been my friends else? Why have you that charitable title from thousands, did not you chiefly belong to my heart? I have told more of you to myself than you can with modesty speak in your own behalf. And thus far I confirm you. O you gods, think I, what need we have any friends if we should ne’er have need of ’em? They were the most needless creatures living, should we ne’er have use for ’em, and would most resemble sweet instruments hung up in cases, that keep their sounds to themselves. Why, I have often wished myself poorer that I might come nearer to you. We are born to do benefits, and what better or properer can we call our own than the riches of our friends? O, what a precious comfort ’tis to have so many, like brothers, commanding one another’s fortunes. O joy’s e’en made away ere’t can be born! Mine eyes cannot hold out water, methinks. To forget their faults, I drink to you.
APEMANTUS. Thou weep’st to make them drink, Timon.
SECOND LORD. Joy had the like conception in our eyes And, at that instant like a babe sprung up.
APEMANTUS. Ho, ho! I laugh to think that babe a bastard.
THIRD LORD. I promise you, my lord, you moved me much.
APEMANTUS. Much!
[_A tucket sounds._]
TIMON. What means that trump?
Enter a Servant.
How now?
SERVANT. Please you, my lord, there are certain ladies most desirous of admittance.
TIMON. Ladies? What are their wills?
SERVANT. There comes with them a forerunner, my lord, which bears that office, to signify their pleasures.
TIMON. I pray, let them be admitted.
[_Exit Servant._]
Enter Cupid.
CUPID. Hail to thee, worthy Timon, and to all That of his bounties taste! The five best senses Acknowledge thee their patron and come freely To gratulate thy plenteous bosom. There Taste, touch, all, pleased from thy table rise; They only now come but to feast thine eyes.
TIMON. They’re welcome all, let ’em have kind admittance. Music, make their welcome!
FIRST LORD. You see, my lord, how ample you’re beloved.
Music. Enter a masque of Ladies as Amazons, with lutes in their hands, dancing and playing.
APEMANTUS. Hoy-day! What a sweep of vanity comes this way. They dance? They are madwomen. Like madness is the glory of this life, As this pomp shows to a little oil and root. We make ourselves fools to disport ourselves, And spend our flatteries to drink those men Upon whose age we void it up again With poisonous spite and envy. Who lives that’s not depraved or depraves? Who dies that bears not one spurn to their graves Of their friend’s gift? I should fear those that dance before me now Would one day stamp upon me. ’T has been done. Men shut their doors against a setting sun.
[_The Lords rise from table, with much adoring of Timon, and to show their loves each singles out an Amazon, and all dance, men with women, a lofty strain or two to the hautboys, and cease._]
TIMON. You have done our pleasures much grace, fair ladies, Set a fair fashion on our entertainment, Which was not half so beautiful and kind. You have added worth unto ’t and lustre, And entertained me with mine own device. I am to thank you for ’t.
FIRST LADY. My lord, you take us even at the best.
APEMANTUS. Faith, for the worst is filthy and would not hold taking, I doubt me.
TIMON. Ladies, there is an idle banquet attends you, Please you to dispose yourselves.
ALL LADIES. Most thankfully, my lord.
[_Exeunt Cupid and Ladies._]
TIMON. Flavius!
FLAVIUS. My lord?
TIMON. The little casket bring me hither.
FLAVIUS. Yes, my lord. [_Aside_.] More jewels yet? There is no crossing him in ’s humour; Else I should tell him well, i’ faith, I should, When all’s spent, he’d be crossed then, an he could. ’Tis pity bounty had not eyes behind, That man might ne’er be wretched for his mind.
[_Exit._]
FIRST LORD. Where be our men?
SERVANT. Here, my lord, in readiness.
SECOND LORD. Our horses!
Enter Flavius with the casket.
TIMON. O, my friends, I have one word To say to you. Look you, my good lord, I must entreat you, honour me so much As to advance this jewel. Accept it and wear it, Kind my lord.
FIRST LORD. I am so far already in your gifts—
ALL. So are we all.
Enter a Servant.
SERVANT. My lord, there are certain nobles of the Senate Newly alighted and come to visit you.
TIMON. They are fairly welcome.
[_Exit Servant._]
FLAVIUS. I beseech your honour, Vouchsafe me a word. It does concern you near.
TIMON. Near? Why then, another time I’ll hear thee. I prithee let’s be provided to show them entertainment.
FLAVIUS. [_Aside_.] I scarce know how.
Enter another Servant.
SECOND SERVANT. May it please your honour, Lord Lucius, Out of his free love, hath presented to you Four milk-white horses, trapped in silver.
TIMON. I shall accept them fairly; let the presents Be worthily entertained.
[_Exit Servant._]
Enter a third Servant.
How now? What news?
THIRD SERVANT. Please you, my lord, that honourable gentleman, Lord Lucullus, entreats your company tomorrow to hunt with him and has sent your honour two brace of greyhounds.
TIMON. I’ll hunt with him; and let them be received, Not without fair reward.
[_Exit Servant._]
FLAVIUS. [_Aside_.] What will this come to? He commands us to provide, and give great gifts, And all out of an empty coffer; Nor will he know his purse or yield me this: To show him what a beggar his heart is, Being of no power to make his wishes good. His promises fly so beyond his state That what he speaks is all in debt; he owes For every word. He is so kind that he now Pays interest for ’t; his land’s put to their books. Well, would I were gently put out of office Before I were forced out. Happier is he that has no friend to feed Than such that do e’en enemies exceed. I bleed inwardly for my lord.
[_Exit._]
TIMON. You do yourselves much wrong, You bate too much of your own merits. Here, my lord, a trifle of our love.
SECOND LORD. With more than common thanks I will receive it.
THIRD LORD. O, he’s the very soul of bounty!
TIMON. And now I remember, my lord, you gave good words the other day of a bay courser I rode on. ’Tis yours because you liked it.
THIRD LORD. O, I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, in that.
TIMON. You may take my word, my lord. I know no man Can justly praise but what he does affect. I weigh my friend’s affection with mine own. I’ll tell you true, I’ll call to you.
ALL LORDS. O, none so welcome!
TIMON. I take all and your several visitations So kind to heart, ’tis not enough to give; Methinks I could deal kingdoms to my friends, And ne’er be weary. Alcibiades, Thou art a soldier, therefore seldom rich. It comes in charity to thee, for all thy living Is ’mongst the dead, and all the lands thou hast Lie in a pitched field.
ALCIBIADES. Ay, defiled land, my lord.
FIRST LORD. We are so virtuously bound—
TIMON. And so am I to you.
SECOND LORD. So infinitely endeared—
TIMON. All to you. Lights, more lights!
FIRST LORD. The best of happiness, honour, and fortunes keep with you, Lord Timon.
TIMON. Ready for his friends.
[_Exeunt all but Apemantus and Timon._]
APEMANTUS. What a coil’s here! Serving of becks and jutting out of bums! I doubt whether their legs be worth the sums That are given for ’em. Friendship’s full of dregs. Methinks false hearts should never have sound legs. Thus honest fools lay out their wealth on curtsies.
TIMON. Now, Apemantus, if thou wert not sullen, I would be good to thee.
APEMANTUS. No, I’ll nothing, for if I should be bribed too, there would be none left to rail upon thee, and then thou wouldst sin the faster. Thou giv’st so long, Timon, I fear me thou wilt give away thyself in paper shortly. What needs these feasts, pomps, and vainglories?
TIMON. Nay, an you begin to rail on society once, I am sworn not to give regard to you. Farewell, and come with better music.
[_Exit._]
APEMANTUS. So. Thou wilt not hear me now, thou shalt not then. I’ll lock thy heaven from thee. O, that men’s ears should be To counsel deaf, but not to flattery!
[_Exit._]
ACT II
SCENE I. Athens. A room in a senator’s house
Enter a Senator with papers.
SENATOR. And late five thousand. To Varro and to Isidore He owes nine thousand, besides my former sum, Which makes it five-and-twenty. Still in motion Of raging waste! It cannot hold; it will not. If I want gold, steal but a beggar’s dog And give it Timon, why, the dog coins gold. If I would sell my horse, and buy twenty more Better than he, why, give my horse to Timon— Ask nothing, give it him—it foals me straight, And able horses. No porter at his gate, But rather one that smiles and still invites All that pass by. It cannot hold; no reason Can sound his state in safety. Caphis, ho! Caphis, I say!
Enter Caphis.
CAPHIS. Here, sir, what is your pleasure?
SENATOR. Get on your cloak and haste you to Lord Timon. Importune him for my moneys; be not ceased With slight denial, nor then silenced when “Commend me to your master”, and the cap Plays in the right hand, thus; but tell him, My uses cry to me, I must serve my turn Out of mine own, his days and times are past, And my reliances on his fracted dates Have smit my credit. I love and honour him, But must not break my back to heal his finger. Immediate are my needs, and my relief Must not be tossed and turned to me in words, But find supply immediate. Get you gone. Put on a most importunate aspect, A visage of demand, for I do fear When every feather sticks in his own wing, Lord Timon will be left a naked gull, Which flashes now a phoenix. Get you gone.
CAPHIS. I go, sir.
SENATOR. Take the bonds along with you, And have the dates in. Come.
CAPHIS. I will, sir.
SENATOR. Go.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE II. The same. A hall in Timon’s house
Enter Flavius with many bills in his hand.
FLAVIUS. No care, no stop, so senseless of expense, That he will neither know how to maintain it Nor cease his flow of riot. Takes no account How things go from him, nor resumes no care Of what is to continue. Never mind Was to be so unwise, to be so kind. What shall be done? He will not hear till feel. I must be round with him, now he comes from hunting. Fie, fie, fie, fie!
Enter Caphis and the Servants of Isidore and Varro.
CAPHIS. Good even, Varro. What, you come for money?
VARRO’S SERVANT. Is’t not your business too?
CAPHIS. It is. And yours too, Isidore?
ISIDORE’S SERVANT. It is so.
CAPHIS. Would we were all discharged!
VARRO’S SERVANT. I fear it.
CAPHIS. Here comes the lord.
Enter Timon and his train with Alcibiades
TIMON. So soon as dinner’s done, we’ll forth again, My Alcibiades. With me? What is your will?
CAPHIS. My lord, here is a note of certain dues.
TIMON. Dues? Whence are you?
CAPHIS. Of Athens here, my lord.
TIMON. Go to my steward.