ARKCODEX
Act V, Scene 1
1The woods. Before Timon’s cave.
2Enter Poet and Painter; Timon watching them from his cave.
3PainterAs I took note of the place, it cannot be far where he abides.
4PoetWhat’s to be thought of him? does the rumour hold for true, that he’s so full of gold?
5PainterCertain: 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.
6PoetThen this breaking of his has been but a try for his friends.
7PainterNothing 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.
8PoetWhat have you now to present unto him?
9PainterNothing at this time but my visitation: only I will promise him an excellent piece.
10PoetI must serve him so too, tell him of an intent that’s coming toward him.
11PainterGood 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. Timon comes from his cave, behind.
12TimonAside. Excellent workman! thou canst not paint a man so bad as is thyself.
13PoetI 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.
14TimonAside. 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.
15PoetNay, let’s seek him:
Then do we sin against our own estate,
When we may profit meet, and come too late.
16PainterTrue;
When the day serves, before black-corner’d night,
Find what thou want’st by free and offer’d light.
Come.
17TimonAside. 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. Coming forward.
18PoetHail, worthy Timon!
19PainterOur late noble master!
20TimonHave I once lived to see two honest men?
21PoetSir,
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.
22TimonLet it go naked, men may see’t the better:
You that are honest, by being what you are,
Make them best seen and known.
23PainterHe and myself
Have travail’d in the great shower of your gifts,
And sweetly felt it.
24TimonAy, you are honest men.
25PainterWe are hither come to offer you our service.
26TimonMost honest men! Why, how shall I requite you?
Can you eat roots, and drink cold water? no.
27BothWhat we can do, we’ll do, to do you service.
28TimonYe’re honest men: ye’ve heard that I have gold;
I am sure you have: speak truth; ye’re honest men.
29PainterSo it is said, my noble lord; but therefore
Came not my friend nor I.
30TimonGood honest men! Thou draw’st a counterfeit
Best in all Athens: thou’rt, indeed, the best;
Thou counterfeit’st most lively.
31PainterSo, so, my lord.
32TimonE’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.
33BothBeseech your honour
To make it known to us.
34TimonYou’ll take it ill.
35BothMost thankfully, my lord.
36TimonWill you, indeed?
37BothDoubt it not, worthy lord.
38TimonThere’s never a one of you but trusts a knave,
That mightily deceives you.
39BothDo we, my lord?
40TimonAy, 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.
41PainterI know none such, my lord.
42PoetNor I.
43TimonLook 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.
44BothName them, my lord, let’s know them.
45TimonYou 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:
To Painter. You have work’d for me; there’s payment for you: hence!
To Poet. You are an alchemist; make gold of that.
Out, rascal dogs! Beats them out, and then retires to his cave.
46Enter Flavius and two Senators.
47FlaviusIt 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.
48First SenatorBring us to his cave:
It is our part and promise to the Athenians
To speak with Timon.
49Second SenatorAt 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.
50FlaviusHere 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.
51Timon comes from his cave.
52TimonThou 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!
53First SenatorWorthy Timon—
54TimonOf none but such as you, and you of Timon.
55First SenatorThe senators of Athens greet thee, Timon.
56TimonI thank them; and would send them back the plague,
Could I but catch it for them.
57First SenatorO, 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.
58Second SenatorThey 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.
59TimonYou 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.
60First SenatorTherefore, 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.
61Second SenatorAnd shakes his threatening sword
Against the walls of Athens.
62First SenatorTherefore, Timon—
63TimonWell, 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.
64FlaviusStay not, all’s in vain.
65TimonWhy, 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!
66First SenatorWe speak in vain.
67TimonBut yet I love my country, and am not
One that rejoices in the common wreck,
As common bruit doth put it.
68First SenatorThat’s well spoke.
69TimonCommend me to my loving countrymen—
70First SenatorThese words become your lips as they pass thorough them.
71Second SenatorAnd enter in our ears like great triumphers
In their applauding gates.
72TimonCommend 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.
73First SenatorI like this well; he will return again.
74TimonI 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.
75FlaviusTrouble him no further; thus you still shall find him.
76TimonCome 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. Retires to his cave.
77First SenatorHis discontents are unremoveably
Coupled to nature.
78Second SenatorOur hope in him is dead: let us return,
And strain what other means is left unto us
In our dear peril.
79First SenatorIt requires swift foot. Exeunt.