| ACT V SCENE I | The woods. Before Timon's cave. | |
| | Enter Poet and Painter; TIMON watchingthem from his cave | |
| Painter | As I took note of the place, it cannot be far where | |
| | he abides. | |
| Poet | What's to be thought of him? does the rumour hold | |
| | for true, that he's so full of gold? | 5 |
| Painter | Certain: Alcibiades reports it; Phrynia and | |
| | Timandra had gold of him: he likewise enriched poor | |
| | straggling soldiers with great quantity: 'tis said | |
| | he gave unto his steward a mighty sum. | |
| Poet | Then this breaking of his has been but a try for his friends. | 10 |
| Painter | Nothing else: you shall see him a palm in Athens | |
| | again, and flourish with the highest. Therefore | |
| | 'tis not amiss we tender our loves to him, in this | |
| | supposed distress of his: it will show honestly in | |
| | us; and is very likely to load our purposes with | 15 |
| | what they travail for, if it be a just true report | |
| | that goes of his having. | |
| Poet | What have you now to present unto him? | |
| Painter | Nothing at this time but my visitation: only I will | |
| | promise him an excellent piece. | 20 |
| Poet | I must serve him so too, tell him of an intent | |
| | that's coming toward him. | |
| Painter | Good as the best. Promising is the very air o' the | |
| | time: it opens the eyes of expectation: | |
| | performance is ever the duller for his act; and, | 25 |
| | 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. | 30 |
| | TIMON comes from his cave, behind | |
| TIMON | Aside | |
| | man so bad as is thyself. | |
| Poet | I am thinking what I shall say I have provided for | |
| | him: it must be a personating of himself; a satire | |
| | against the softness of prosperity, with a discovery | |
| | of the infinite flatteries that follow youth and opulency. | 35 |
| TIMON | Aside | |
| | thine own work? wilt thou whip thine own faults in | |
| | other men? Do so, I have gold for thee. | |
| Poet | Nay, let's seek him: | |
| | Then do we sin against our own estate, | |
| | When we may profit meet, and come too late. | 40 |
| Painter | True; | |
| | When the day serves, before black-corner'd night, | |
| | Find what thou want'st by free and offer'd light. Come. | |
| TIMON | Aside | |
| | god's gold, | |
| | That he is worshipp'd in a baser temple | 45 |
| | 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! | 50 |
| | Fit I meet them. | |
| | Coming forward | |
| Poet | Hail, worthy Timon! | |
| Painter | Our late noble master! | |
| TIMON | Have I once lived to see two honest men? | |
| Poet | Sir, | 55 |
| | 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, | 60 |
| | 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. | |
| TIMON | Let it go naked, men may see't the better: | 65 |
| | You that are honest, by being what you are, | |
| | Make them best seen and known. | |
| Painter | He and myself | |
| | Have travail'd in the great shower of your gifts, | |
| | And sweetly felt it. | 70 |
| TIMON | Ay, you are honest men. | |
| Painter | We are hither come to offer you our service. | |
| TIMON | Most honest men! Why, how shall I requite you? | |
| | Can you eat roots, and drink cold water? no. | |
| Both | What we can do, we'll do, to do you service. | 75 |
| TIMON | Ye're honest men: ye've heard that I have gold; | |
| | I am sure you have: speak truth; ye're honest men. | |
| Painter | So it is said, my noble lord; but therefore | |
| | Came not my friend nor I. | |
| TIMON | Good honest men! Thou draw'st a counterfeit | 80 |
| | Best in all Athens: thou'rt, indeed, the best; | |
| | Thou counterfeit'st most lively. | |
| Painter | So, so, my lord. | |
| TIMON | E'en so, sir, as I say. And, for thy fiction, | |
| | Why, thy verse swells with stuff so fine and smooth | 85 |
| | 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. | 90 |
| Both | Beseech your honour | |
| | To make it known to us. | |
| TIMON | You'll take it ill. | |
| Both | Most thankfully, my lord. | |
| TIMON | Will you, indeed? | 95 |
| Both | Doubt it not, worthy lord. | |
| TIMON | There's never a one of you but trusts a knave, | |
| | That mightily deceives you. | |
| Both | Do we, my lord? | |
| TIMON | Ay, and you hear him cog, see him dissemble, | 100 |
| | Know his gross patchery, love him, feed him, | |
| | Keep in your bosom: yet remain assured | |
| | That he's a made-up villain. | |
| Painter | I know none such, my lord. | |
| Poet | Nor I. | 105 |
| TIMON | Look you, I love you well; I'll give you gold, | |
| | Rid me these villains from your companies: | |
| | Hang them or stab them, drown them in a draught, | |
| | Confound them by some course, and come to me, | |
| | I'll give you gold enough. | 110 |
| Both | Name them, my lord, let's know them. | |
| TIMON | You that way and you this, but two in company; | |
| | Each man apart, all single and alone, | |
| | Yet an arch-villain keeps him company. | |
| | If where thou art two villains shall not be, | 115 |
| | 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. | 120 |
| | Out, rascal dogs! | |
| | Beats them out, and then retires to his cave | |
| | Enter FLAVIUS and two Senators | |
| FLAVIUS | It is in vain that you would speak with Timon; | |
| | For he is set so only to himself | |
| | That nothing but himself which looks like man | |
| | Is friendly with him. | 125 |
| First Senator | Bring us to his cave: | |
| | It is our part and promise to the Athenians | |
| | To speak with Timon. | |
| Second Senator | At all times alike | |
| | Men are not still the same: 'twas time and griefs | 130 |
| | 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. | |
| FLAVIUS | Here is his cave. | 135 |
| | 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. | |
| | TIMON comes from his cave | |
| TIMON | Thou sun, that comfort'st, burn! Speak, and | 140 |
| | 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! | |
| First Senator | Worthy Timon,-- | 145 |
| TIMON | Of none but such as you, and you of Timon. | |
| First Senator | The senators of Athens greet thee, Timon. | |
| TIMON | I thank them; and would send them back the plague, | |
| | Could I but catch it for them. | |
| First Senator | O, forget | 150 |
| | 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. | 155 |
| Second Senator | They confess | |
| | Toward thee forgetfulness too general, gross: | |
| | Which now the public body, which doth seldom | |
| | Play the recanter, feeling in itself | |
| | A lack of Timon's aid, hath sense withal | 160 |
| | 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 | 165 |
| | As shall to thee blot out what wrongs were theirs | |
| | And write in thee the figures of their love, | |
| | Ever to read them thine. | |
| TIMON | You witch me in it; | |
| | Surprise me to the very brink of tears: | 170 |
| | Lend me a fool's heart and a woman's eyes, | |
| | And I'll beweep these comforts, worthy senators. | |
| First Senator | Therefore, so please thee to return with us | |
| | And of our Athens, thine and ours, to take | |
| | The captainship, thou shalt be met with thanks, | 175 |
| | 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. | 180 |
| Second Senator | And shakes his threatening sword | |
| | Against the walls of Athens. | |
| First Senator | Therefore, Timon,-- | |
| TIMON | Well, sir, I will; therefore, I will, sir; thus: | |
| | If Alcibiades kill my countrymen, | 185 |
| | 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, | 190 |
| | 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, | 195 |
| | 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. | 200 |
| FLAVIUS | Stay not, all's in vain. | |
| TIMON | Why, I was writing of my epitaph; | |
| | it will be seen to-morrow: my long sickness | |
| | Of health and living now begins to mend, | |
| | And nothing brings me all things. Go, live still; | 205 |
| | Be Alcibiades your plague, you his, | |
| | And last so long enough! | |
| First Senator | We speak in vain. | |
| TIMON | But yet I love my country, and am not | |
| | One that rejoices in the common wreck, | 210 |
| | As common bruit doth put it. | |
| First Senator | That's well spoke. | |
| TIMON | Commend me to my loving countrymen,-- | |
| First Senator | These words become your lips as they pass | |
| | thorough them. | 215 |
| Second Senator | And enter in our ears like great triumphers | |
| | In their applauding gates. | |
| TIMON | Commend me to them, | |
| | And tell them that, to ease them of their griefs, | |
| | Their fears of hostile strokes, their aches, losses, | 220 |
| | 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. | |
| First Senator | I like this well; he will return again. | 225 |
| TIMON | I have a tree, which grows here in my close, | |
| | That mine own use invites me to cut down, | |
| | And shortly must I fell it: tell my friends, | |
| | Tell Athens, in the sequence of degree | |
| | From high to low throughout, that whoso please | 230 |
| | 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. | |
| FLAVIUS | Trouble him no further; thus you still shall find him. | |
| TIMON | Come not to me again: but say to Athens, | 235 |
| | 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. | 240 |
| | 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 | |
| First Senator | His discontents are unremoveably | 245 |
| | Coupled to nature. | |
| Second Senator | Our hope in him is dead: let us return, | |
| | And strain what other means is left unto us | |
| | In our dear peril. | |
| First Senator | It requires swift foot. | 250 |
| | Exeunt | |