Mercutius kinsman, Noble Countie Paris,
What said my man, when my betossed soule
Did not attend him as we rode? I thinke
He told me Paris should haue married Iuliet.
Said he not so? Or did I dreame it so?
Or am I mad, hearing him talke of Iuliet,
To thinke it was so? O giue me thy hand,
One, writ with me in sowre misfortunes booke.
Ile burie thee in a triumphant graue.
A Graue; O no, a Lanthorne; slaughtred Youth:
For here lies Iuliet, and her beautie makes
This Vault a feasting presence full of light.
Death lie thou there, by a dead man inter'd,
How oft when men are at the point of death,
Haue they beene merrie? Which their Keepers call
A lightning before death? Oh how may I
Call this a lightning? O my Loue, my Wife,
Death that hath suckt the honey of thy breath,
Hath had no power yet vpon thy Beautie:
Thou are not conquer'd: Beauties ensigne yet
Is Crymson in thy lips, and in thy cheekes,
And Deaths pale flag is not aduanced there.
Tybalt, ly'st thou there in thy bloudy sheet?
O what more fauour can I do to thee,
Then with that hand that cut thy youth in twaine,
To sunder his that was thy enemie?
Forgiue me Cozen. Ah deare Iuliet:
Why art thou yet so faire? I will beleeue,
Shall I beleeue, that vnsubstantiall death is amorous?
And that the leane abhorred Monster keepes
Thee here in darke to be his Paramour?
For feare of that, I still will stay with thee,
And neuer from this Pallace of dym night
Depart againe: come lie thou in my armes,
Heere's to thy health, where ere thou tumblest in.
O true Appothecarie!
Thy drugs are quicke. Thus with a kisse I die.
Depart againe; here, here will I remaine,
With Wormes that are thy Chambermaides: O here
Will I set vp my euerlasting rest:
And shake the yoke of inauspicious starres
From this world-wearied flesh: Eyes looke your last:
Armes take your last embrace: And lips, O you
The doores of breath, seale with a righteous kisse
A datelesse bargaine to ingrossing death:
Come bitter conduct, come vnsauory guide,
Thou desperate Pilot, now at once run on
The dashing Rocks, thy Sea-sicke wearie Barke:
Heere's to my Loue. O true Appothecary:
Thy drugs are quicke. Thus with a kisse I die.
Enter Frier with a Lanthorne, Crow, and Spade.
Fri. St. Francis be my speed, how oft to night
Haue my old feet stumbled at graues? Who's there?
Man. Here's one, a Friend, & one that knowes you well
Fri. Blisse be vpon you. Tell me good my Friend
What Torch is yond that vainely lends his light
To grubs, and eyelesse Sculles? As I discerne,
It burneth in the Capels Monument
Man. It doth so holy sir,
And there's my Master, one that you loue
Fri. Who is it?
Man. Romeo
Fri. How long hath he bin there?
Man. Full halfe an houre
Fri. Go with me to the Vault
Man. I dare not Sir.
My Master knowes not but I am gone hence,
And fearefully did menace me with death,
If I did stay to looke on his entents
Fri. Stay, then Ile go alone, feares comes vpon me.
O much I feare some ill vnluckie thing
Man. As I did sleepe vnder this young tree here,
I dreamt my maister and another fought,
And that my Maister slew him
Fri. Romeo.
Alacke, alacke, what blood is this which staines
The stony entrance of this Sepulcher?
What meane these Masterlesse, and goarie Swords
To lie discolour'd by this place of peace?
Romeo, oh pale: who else? what Paris too?
And steept in blood? Ah what an vnkind houre
Is guiltie of this lamentable chance?
The Lady stirs
Iul. O comfortable Frier, where's my Lord?
I do remember well where I should be:
And there I am, where is my Romeo?
Fri. I heare some noyse Lady, come from that nest
Of death, contagion, and vnnaturall sleepe,
A greater power then we can contradict
Hath thwarted our entents, come, come away,
Thy husband in thy bosome there lies dead:
And Paris too: come Ile dispose of thee,
Among a Sisterhood of holy Nunnes:
Stay not to question, for the watch is comming.
Come, go good Iuliet, I dare no longer stay.
Enter.
Iul. Go get thee hence, for I will not away,
What's here, A cup clos'd in my true loues hand?
Poyson I see hath bin his timelesse end
O churle, drinke all? and left no friendly drop,
To helpe me after, I will kisse thy lips,
Happlie some poyson yet doth hang on them,
To make me die with a restoratiue.
Thy lips are warme.
Enter Boy and Watch.
Watch. Lead Boy, which way?
Iul. Yea noise?
Then ile be briefe. O happy Dagger.
'Tis in thy sheath, there rust and let me die.
Kils herselfe.
Boy. This is the place,
There where the Torch doth burne
Watch. The ground is bloody,
Search about the Churchyard.
Go some of you, who ere you find attach.
Pittifull sight, here lies the Countie slaine,
And Iuliet bleeding, warme and newly dead
Who here hath laine these two dayes buried.
Go tell the Prince, runne to the Capulets,
Raise vp the Mountagues, some others search,
We see the ground whereon these woes do lye,
But the true ground of all these piteous woes,
We cannot without circumstance descry.
Enter Romeo's man.
Watch. Here's Romeo's man,
We found him in the Churchyard
Con. Hold him in safety, till the Prince come hither.
Enter Frier, and another Watchman.
3.Wat. Here is a Frier that trembles, sighes, and weepes
We tooke this Mattocke and this Spade from him,
As he was comming from this Church-yard side
Con. A great suspition, stay the Frier too.
Enter the Prince.
Prin. What misaduenture is so earely vp,
That calls our person from our mornings rest?
Enter Capulet and his Wife.
Cap. What should it be that they so shrike abroad?
Wife. O the people in the streete crie Romeo.
Some Iuliet, and some Paris, and all runne
With open outcry toward our Monument
Pri. What feare is this which startles in your eares?
Wat. Soueraigne, here lies the Countie Paris slaine,
And Romeo dead, and Iuliet dead before,
Warme and new kil'd
Prin. Search,
Seeke, and know how, this foule murder comes
Wat. Here is a Frier, and Slaughter'd Romeos man,
With Instruments vpon them fit to open
These dead mens Tombes
Cap. O heauen!
O wife looke how our Daughter bleedes!
This Dagger hath mistaine, for loe his house
Is empty on the backe of Mountague,
And is misheathed in my Daughters bosome
Wife. O me, this sight of death, is as a Bell
That warnes my old age to a Sepulcher.
Enter Mountague.
Pri. Come Mountague, for thou art early vp
To see thy Sonne and Heire, now early downe
Moun. Alas my liege, my wife is dead to night,
Griefe of my Sonnes exile hath stopt her breath:
What further woe conspires against my age?
Prin. Looke: and thou shalt see
Moun. O thou vntaught, what manners is in this,
To presse before thy Father to a graue?
Prin. Seale vp the mouth of outrage for a while,
Till we can cleare these ambiguities,
And know their spring, their head, their true descent,
And then I will be generall of your woes,
And lead you euen to death? meane time forbeare,
And let mischance be slaue to patience,
Bring forth the parties of suspition
Fri. I am the greatest, able to doe least,
Yet most suspected as the time and place
Doth make against me of this direfull murther:
And heere I stand both to impeach and purge
My selfe condemned, and my selfe excus'd
Prin. Then say at once, what thou dost know in this?
Fri. I will be briefe, for my short date of breath
Is not so long as is a tedious tale.
Romeo there dead, was husband to that Iuliet,
And she there dead, that's Romeos faithfull wife:
I married them; and their stolne marriage day
Was Tybalts Doomesday: whose vntimely death
Banish'd the new-made Bridegroome from this Citie:
For whom (and not for Tybalt) Iuliet pinde.
You, to remoue that siege of Greefe from her,
Betroth'd, and would haue married her perforce
To Countie Paris. Then comes she to me,
And (with wilde lookes) bid me deuise some meanes
To rid her from this second Marriage,
Or in my Cell there would she kill her selfe.
Then gaue I her (so Tutor'd by my Art)
A sleeping Potion, which so tooke effect
As I intended, for it wrought on her
The forme of death. Meane time, I writ to Romeo,
That he should hither come, as this dyre night,
To helpe to take her from her borrowed graue,
Being the time the Potions force should cease.
But he which bore my Letter, Frier Iohn,
Was stay'd by accident; and yesternight
Return'd my Letter backe. Then all alone,
At the prefixed houre of her waking,
Came I to take her from her Kindreds vault,
Meaning to keepe her closely at my Cell,
Till I conueniently could send to Romeo.
But when I came (some Minute ere the time
Of her awaking) heere vntimely lay
The Noble Paris, and true Romeo dead.
Shee wakes, and I intreated her come foorth,
And beare this worke of Heauen, with patience:
But then, a noyse did scarre me from the Tombe,
And she (too desperate) would not go with me,
But (as it seemes) did violence on her selfe.
All this I know, and to the Marriage her Nurse is priuy:
And if ought in this miscarried by my fault,
Let my old life be sacrific'd, some houre before the time,
Vnto the rigour of seuerest Law
Prin. We still haue knowne thee for a Holy man.
Where's Romeo's man? What can he say to this?
Boy. I brought my Master newes of Iuliets death,
And then in poste he came from Mantua
To this same place, to this same Monument.
This Letter he early bid me giue his Father,
And threatned me with death, going in the Vault,
If I departed not, and left him there
Prin. Giue me the Letter, I will look on it.
Where is the Counties Page that rais'd the Watch?
Sirra, what made your Master in this place?
Page. He came with flowres to strew his Ladies graue,
And bid me stand aloofe, and so I did:
Anon comes one with light to ope the Tombe,
And by and by my Maister drew on him,
And then I ran away to call the Watch
Prin. This Letter doth make good the Friers words,
Their course of Loue, the tydings of her death:
And heere he writes, that he did buy a poyson
Of a poore Pothecarie, and therewithall
Came to this Vault to dye, and lye with Iuliet.
Where be these Enemies? Capulet, Mountague,
See what a scourge is laide vpon your hate,
That Heauen finds meanes to kill your ioyes with Loue;
And I, for winking at your discords too,
Haue lost a brace of Kinsmen: All are punish'd
Cap. O Brother Mountague, giue me thy hand,
This is my Daughters ioynture, for no more
Can I demand
Moun. But I can giue thee more:
For I will raise her Statue in pure Gold,
That whiles Verona by that name is knowne,
There shall no figure at that Rate be set,
As that of True and Faithfull Iuliet
Cap. As rich shall Romeo by his Lady ly,
Poore sacrifices of our enmity
Prin. A glooming peace this morning with it brings,
The Sunne for sorrow will not shew his head;
Go hence, to haue more talke of these sad things,
Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished.
For neuer was a Storie of more Wo,
Then this of Iuliet, and her Romeo.
Exeunt. omnes
FINIS. THE TRAGEDIE OF ROMEO and IVLIET
The Life of Timon of Athens
Enter Poet, Painter, Ieweller, Merchant, and Mercer, at seuerall
doores.
Poet. Good day Sir
Pain. I am glad y'are well
Poet. I haue not seene you long, how goes
the World?
Pain. It weares sir, as it growes
Poet. I that's well knowne:
But what particular Rarity? What strange,
Which manifold record not matches: see
Magicke of Bounty, all these spirits thy power
Hath coniur'd to attend.
I know the Merchant
Pain. I know them both: th' others a Ieweller
Mer. O 'tis a worthy Lord
Iew. Nay that's most fixt
Mer. A most incomparable man, breath'd as it were,
To an vntyreable and continuate goodnesse:
He passes
Iew. I haue a Iewell heere
Mer. O pray let's see't. For the Lord Timon, sir?
Iewel. If he will touch the estimate. But for that-
Poet. When we for recompence haue prais'd the vild,
It staines the glory in that happy Verse,
Which aptly sings the good
Mer. 'Tis a good forme
Iewel. And rich: heere is a Water looke ye
Pain. You are rapt sir, in some worke, some Dedication
to the great Lord
Poet. A thing slipt idlely from me.
Our Poesie is as a Gowne, which vses
From whence 'tis nourisht: the fire i'th' Flint
Shewes not, till it be strooke: our gentle flame
Prouokes it selfe, and like the currant flyes
Each bound it chases. What haue you there?
Pain. A Picture sir: when comes your Booke forth?
Poet. Vpon the heeles of my presentment sir.
Let's see your peece
Pain. 'Tis a good Peece
Poet. So 'tis, this comes off well, and excellent
Pain. Indifferent
Poet. Admirable: How this grace
Speakes his owne standing: what a mentall power
This eye shootes forth? How bigge imagination
Moues in this Lip, to th' dumbnesse of the gesture,
One might interpret
Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life:
Heere is a touch: Is't good?
Poet. I will say of it,
It Tutors Nature, Artificiall strife
Liues in these toutches, liuelier then life.
Enter certaine Senators.
Pain. How this Lord is followed
Poet. The Senators of Athens, happy men
Pain. Looke moe
Po. You see this confluence, this great flood of visitors,
I haue in this rough worke, shap'd out a man
Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hugge
With amplest entertainment: My free drift
Halts not particularly, but moues it selfe
In a wide Sea of wax, no leuell'd malice
Infects one comma in the course I hold,
But flies an Eagle flight, bold, and forth on,
Leauing no Tract behinde
Pain. How shall I vnderstand you?
Poet. I will vnboult to you.
You see how all Conditions, how all Mindes,
As well of glib and slipp'ry Creatures, as
Of Graue and austere qualitie, tender downe
Their seruices to Lord Timon: his large Fortune,
Vpon his good and gracious Nature hanging,
Subdues and properties to his loue and tendance
All sorts of hearts; yea, from the glasse-fac'd Flatterer
To Apemantus, that few things loues better
Then to abhorre himselfe; euen hee drops downe
The knee before him, and returnes in peace
Most rich in Timons nod
Pain. I saw them speake together
Poet. Sir, I haue vpon a high and pleasant hill
Feign'd Fortune to be thron'd.
The Base o'th' Mount
Is rank'd with all deserts, all kinde of Natures
That labour on the bosome of this Sphere,
To propagate their states; among'st them all,
Whose eyes are on this Soueraigne Lady fixt,
One do I personate of Lord Timons frame,
Whom Fortune with her Iuory hand wafts to her,
Whose present grace, to present slaues and seruants
Translates his Riuals
Pain. 'Tis conceyu'd, to scope
This Throne, this Fortune, and this Hill me thinkes
With one man becken'd from the rest below,
Bowing his head against the sleepy Mount
To climbe his happinesse, would be well exprest
In our Condition
Poet. Nay Sir, but heare me on:
All those which were his Fellowes but of late,
Some better then his valew; on the moment
Follow his strides, his Lobbies fill with tendance,
Raine Sacrificiall whisperings in his eare,
Make Sacred euen his styrrop, and through him
Drinke the free Ayre
Pain. I marry, what of these?
Poet. When Fortune in her shift and change of mood
Spurnes downe her late beloued; all his Dependants
Which labour'd after him to the Mountaines top,
Euen on their knees and hand, let him sit downe,
Not one accompanying his declining foot
Pain. Tis common:
A thousand morall Paintings I can shew,
That shall demonstrate these quicke blowes of Fortunes,
More pregnantly then words. Yet you do well,
To shew Lord Timon, that meane eyes haue seene
The foot aboue the head.
Trumpets sound.
Enter Lord Timon, addressing himselfe curteously to euery Sutor.
Tim. Imprison'd is he, say you?
Mes. I my good Lord, fiue Talents is his debt,
His meanes most short, his Creditors most straite:
Your Honourable Letter he desires
To those haue shut him vp, which failing,
Periods his comfort
Tim. Noble Ventidius, well:
I am not of that Feather, to shake off
My Friend when he must neede me. I do know him
A Gentleman, that well deserues a helpe,
Which he shall haue. Ile pay the debt, and free him
Mes. Your Lordship euer bindes him
Tim. Commend me to him, I will send his ransome,
And being enfranchized bid him come to me;
'Tis not enough to helpe the Feeble vp,
But to support him after. Fare you well
Mes. All happinesse to your Honor.
Enter.
Enter an old Athenian.
Oldm. Lord Timon, heare me speake
Tim. Freely good Father
Oldm. Thou hast a Seruant nam'd Lucilius
Tim. I haue so: What of him?
Oldm. Most Noble Timon, call the man before thee
Tim. Attends he heere, or no? Lucillius
Luc. Heere at your Lordships seruice
Oldm. This Fellow heere, L[ord]. Timon, this thy Creature,
By night frequents my house. I am a man
That from my first haue beene inclin'd to thrift,
And my estate deserues an Heyre more rais'd,
Then one which holds a Trencher
Tim. Well: what further?
Old. One onely Daughter haue I, no Kin else,
On whom I may conferre what I haue got:
The Maid is faire, a'th' youngest for a Bride,
And I haue bred her at my deerest cost
In Qualities of the best. This man of thine
Attempts her loue: I prythee (Noble Lord)
Ioyne with me to forbid him her resort,
My selfe haue spoke in vaine
Tim. The man is honest
Oldm. Therefore he will be Timon,
His honesty rewards him in it selfe,
It must not beare my Daughter
Tim. Does she loue him?
Oldm. She is yong and apt:
Our owne precedent passions do instruct vs
What leuities in youth
Tim. Loue you the Maid?
Luc. I my good Lord, and she accepts of it
Oldm. If in her Marriage my consent be missing,
I call the Gods to witnesse, I will choose
Mine heyre from forth the Beggers of the world,
And dispossesse her all
Tim. How shall she be endowed,
If she be mated with an equall Husband?
Oldm. Three Talents on the present; in future, all
Tim. This Gentleman of mine
Hath seru'd me long:
To build his Fortune, I will straine a little,
For 'tis a Bond in men. Giue him thy Daughter,
What you bestow, in him Ile counterpoize,
And make him weigh with her
Oldm. Most Noble Lord,
Pawne me to this your Honour, she is his
Tim. My hand to thee,
Mine Honour on my promise
Luc. Humbly I thanke your Lordship, neuer may
That state or Fortune fall into my keeping,
Which is not owed to you.
Exit
Poet. Vouchsafe my Labour,
And long liue your Lordship
Tim. I thanke you, you shall heare from me anon:
Go not away. What haue you there, my Friend?
Pain. A peece of Painting, which I do beseech
Your Lordship to accept
Tim. Painting is welcome.
The Painting is almost the Naturall man:
For since Dishonor Traffickes with mans Nature,
He is but out-side: These Pensil'd Figures are
Euen such as they giue out. I like your worke,
And you shall finde I like it; Waite attendance
Till you heare further from me
Pain. The Gods preserue ye
Tim. Well fare you Gentleman: giue me your hand.
We must needs dine together: sir your Iewell
Hath suffered vnder praise
Iewel. What my Lord, dispraise?
Tim. A meere saciety of Commendations,
If I should pay you for't as 'tis extold,
It would vnclew me quite
Iewel. My Lord, 'tis rated
As those which sell would giue: but you well know,
Things of like valew differing in the Owners,
Are prized by their Masters. Beleeu't deere Lord,
You mend the Iewell by the wearing it
Tim. Well mock'd.
Enter Apermantus.
Mer. No my good Lord, he speakes y common toong
Which all men speake with him
Tim. Looke who comes heere, will you be chid?
Iewel. Wee'l beare with your Lordship
Mer. Hee'l spare none
Tim. Good morrow to thee,
Gentle Apermantus
Ape. Till I be gentle, stay thou for thy good morrow.
When thou art Timons dogge, and these Knaues honest
Tim. Why dost thou call them Knaues, thou know'st
them not?
Ape. Are they not Athenians?
Tim. Yes
Ape. Then I repent not
Iew. You know me, Apemantus?
Ape. Thou know'st I do, I call'd thee by thy name
Tim. Thou art proud Apemantus?
Ape. Of nothing so much, as that I am not like Timon
Tim. Whether art going?
Ape. To knocke out an honest Athenians braines
Tim. That's a deed thou't dye for
Ape. Right, if doing nothing be death by th' Law
Tim. How lik'st thou this picture Apemantus?
Ape. The best, for the innocence
Tim. Wrought he not well that painted it
Ape. He wrought better that made the Painter, and
yet he's but a filthy peece of worke
Pain. Y'are a Dogge
Ape. Thy Mothers of my generation: what's she, if I
be a Dogge?
Tim. Wilt dine with me Apemantus?
Ape. No: I eate not Lords
Tim. And thou should'st, thoud'st anger Ladies
Ape. O they eate Lords;
So they come by great bellies
Tim. That's a lasciuious apprehension
Ape. So, thou apprehend'st it,
Take it for thy labour
Tim. How dost thou like this Iewell, Apemantus?
Ape. Not so well as plain-dealing, which wil not cast
a man a Doit
Tim. What dost thou thinke 'tis worth?
Ape. Not worth my thinking.
How now Poet?
Poet. How now Philosopher?
Ape. Thou lyest
Poet. Art not one?
Ape. Yes
Poet. Then I lye not
Ape. Art not a Poet?
Poet. Yes
Ape. Then thou lyest:
Looke in thy last worke, where thou hast feign'd him a
worthy Fellow
Poet. That's not feign'd, he is so
Ape. Yes he is worthy of thee, and to pay thee for thy
labour. He that loues to be flattered, is worthy o'th flatterer.
Heauens, that I were a Lord
Tim. What wouldst do then Apemantus?
Ape. E'ne as Apemantus does now, hate a Lord with
my heart
Tim. What thy selfe?
Ape. I
Tim. Wherefore?
Ape. That I had no angry wit to be a Lord.
Art not thou a Merchant?
Mer. I Apemantus
Ape. Traffick confound thee, if the Gods will not
Mer. If Trafficke do it, the Gods do it
Ape. Traffickes thy God, & thy God confound thee.
Trumpet sounds. Enter a Messenger.
Tim. What Trumpets that?
Mes. 'Tis Alcibiades, and some twenty Horse
All of Companionship
Tim. Pray entertaine them, giue them guide to vs.
You must needs dine with me: go not you hence
Till I haue thankt you: when dinners done
Shew me this peece, I am ioyfull of your sights.
Enter Alcibiades with the rest.
Most welcome Sir
Ape. So, so; their Aches contract, and sterue your
supple ioynts: that there should bee small loue amongest
these sweet Knaues, and all this Curtesie. The straine of
mans bred out into Baboon and Monkey
Alc. Sir, you haue sau'd my longing, and I feed
Most hungerly on your sight
Tim. Right welcome Sir:
Ere we depart, wee'l share a bounteous time
In different pleasures.
Pray you let vs in.
Exeunt.
Enter two Lords.
1.Lord What time a day is't Apemantus?
Ape. Time to be honest
1 That time serues still
Ape. The most accursed thou that still omitst it
2 Thou art going to Lord Timons Feast
Ape. I, to see meate fill Knaues, and Wine heat fooles
2 Farthee well, farthee well
Ape. Thou art a Foole to bid me farewell twice
2 Why Apemantus?
Ape. Should'st haue kept one to thy selfe, for I meane
to giue thee none
1 Hang thy selfe
Ape. No I will do nothing at thy bidding:
Make thy requests to thy Friend
2 Away vnpeaceable Dogge,
Or Ile spurne thee hence
Ape. I will flye like a dogge, the heeles a'th' Asse
1 Hee's opposite to humanity.
Come shall we in,
And taste Lord Timons bountie: he out-goes
The verie heart of kindnesse
2 He powres it out: Plutus the God of Gold
Is but his Steward: no meede but he repayes
Seuen-fold aboue it selfe: No guift to him,
But breeds the giuer a returne: exceeding
All vse of quittance
1 The Noblest minde he carries,
That euer gouern'd man
2 Long may he liue in Fortunes. Shall we in?
Ile keepe you Company.
Exeunt.
Hoboyes Playing lowd Musicke. A great Banquet seru'd in: and
then, Enter
Lord Timon, the States, the Athenian Lords, Ventigius which
Timon redeem'd
from prison. Then comes dropping after all Apemantus
discontentedly like
himselfe.
Ventig. Most honoured Timon,
It hath pleas'd the Gods to remember my Fathers age,
And call him to long peace:
He is gone happy, and has left me rich:
Then, as in gratefull Vertue I am bound
To your free heart, I do returne those Talents
Doubled with thankes and seruice, from whose helpe
I deriu'd libertie
Tim. O by no meanes,
Honest Ventigius: You mistake my loue,
I gaue it freely euer, and ther's none
Can truely say he giues, if he receiues:
If our betters play at that game, we must not dare
To imitate them: faults that are rich are faire
Vint. A Noble spirit
Tim. Nay my Lords, Ceremony was but deuis'd at first
To set a glosse on faint deeds, hollow welcomes,
Recanting goodnesse, sorry ere 'tis showne:
But where there is true friendship, there needs none.
Pray sit, more welcome are ye to my Fortunes,
Then my Fortunes to me
1.Lord. My Lord, we alwaies haue confest it
Aper. Ho ho, confest it? Handg'd it? Haue you not?
Timo. O Apermantus, you are welcome
Aper. No: You shall not make me welcome:
I come to haue thee thrust me out of doores
Tim. Fie, th'art a churle, ye'haue got a humour there
Does not become a man, 'tis much too blame:
They say my Lords, Ira furor breuis est,
But yond man is verie angrie.
Go, let him haue a Table by himselfe:
For he does neither affect companie,
Nor is he fit for't indeed
Aper. Let me stay at thine apperill Timon,
I come to obserue, I giue thee warning on't
Tim. I take no heede of thee: Th'art an Athenian,
therefore welcome: I my selfe would haue no power,
prythee let my meate make thee silent
Aper. I scorne thy meate, 'twould choake me: for I
should nere flatter thee. Oh you Gods! What a number
of men eats Timon, and he sees 'em not? It greeues me
to see so many dip there meate in one mans blood, and
all the madnesse is, he cheeres them vp too.
I wonder men dare trust themselues with men.
Me thinks they should enuite them without kniues,
Good for there meate, and safer for their liues.
There's much example for't, the fellow that sits next him,
now parts bread with him, pledges the breath of him in
a diuided draught: is the readiest man to kill him. 'Tas
beene proued, if I were a huge man I should feare to
drinke at meales, least they should spie my wind-pipes
dangerous noates, great men should drinke with harnesse
on their throates
Tim. My Lord in heart: and let the health go round
2.Lord. Let it flow this way my good Lord
Aper. Flow this way? A braue fellow. He keepes his
tides well, those healths will make thee and thy state
looke ill, Timon.
Heere's that which is too weake to be a sinner,
Honest water, which nere left man i'th' mire:
This and my food are equals, there's no ods,
Feasts are to proud to giue thanks to the Gods.
Apermantus Grace.