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APEMANTUS. Thou hast cast away thyself, being like thyself; |
A madman so long, now a fool. What, think'st |
That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain, |
Will put thy shirt on warm? Will these moist trees, |
That have outliv'd the eagle, page thy heels |
And skip when thou point'st out? Will the cold brook, |
Candied with ice, caudle thy morning taste |
To cure thy o'ernight's surfeit? Call the creatures |
Whose naked natures live in all the spite |
Of wreakful heaven, whose bare unhoused trunks, |
To the conflicting elements expos'd, |
Answer mere nature- bid them flatter thee. |
O, thou shalt find- |
TIMON. A fool of thee. Depart. |
APEMANTUS. I love thee better now than e'er I did. |
TIMON. I hate thee worse. |
APEMANTUS. Why? |
TIMON. Thou flatter'st misery. |
APEMANTUS. I flatter not, but say thou art a caitiff. |
TIMON. Why dost thou seek me out? |
APEMANTUS. To vex thee. |
TIMON. Always a villain's office or a fool's. |
Dost please thyself in't? |
APEMANTUS. Ay. |
TIMON. What, a knave too? |
APEMANTUS. If thou didst put this sour-cold habit on |
To castigate thy pride, 'twere well; but thou |
Dost it enforcedly. Thou'dst courtier be again |
Wert thou not beggar. Willing misery |
Outlives incertain pomp, is crown'd before. |
The one is filling still, never complete; |
The other, at high wish. Best state, contentless, |
Hath a distracted and most wretched being, |
Worse than the worst, content. |
Thou should'st desire to die, being miserable. |
TIMON. Not by his breath that is more miserable. |
Thou art a slave whom Fortune's tender arm |
With favour never clasp'd, but bred a dog. |
Hadst thou, like us from our first swath, proceeded |
The sweet degrees that this brief world affords |
To such as may the passive drugs of it |
Freely command, thou wouldst have plung'd thyself |
In general riot, melted down thy youth |
In different beds of lust, and never learn'd |
The icy precepts of respect, but followed |
The sug'red game before thee. But myself, |
Who had the world as my confectionary; |
The mouths, the tongues, the eyes, and hearts of men |
At duty, more than I could frame employment; |
That numberless upon me stuck, as leaves |
Do on the oak, have with one winter's brush |
Fell from their boughs, and left me open, bare |
For every storm that blows- I to bear this, |
That never knew but better, is some burden. |
Thy nature did commence in sufferance; time |
Hath made thee hard in't. Why shouldst thou hate men? |
They never flatter'd thee. What hast thou given? |
If thou wilt curse, thy father, that poor rag, |
Must be thy subject; who, in spite, put stuff |
To some she-beggar and compounded thee |
Poor rogue hereditary. Hence, be gone. |
If thou hadst not been born the worst of men, |
Thou hadst been a knave and flatterer. |
APEMANTUS. Art thou proud yet? |
TIMON. Ay, that I am not thee. |
APEMANTUS. I, that I was |
No prodigal. |
TIMON. I, that I am one now. |
Were all the wealth I have shut up in thee, |
I'd give thee leave to hang it. Get thee gone. |
That the whole life of Athens were in this! |
Thus would I eat it. [Eating a root] |
APEMANTUS. Here! I will mend thy feast. |
[Offering him food] |
TIMON. First mend my company: take away thyself. |
APEMANTUS. So I shall mend mine own by th' lack of thine. |
TIMON. 'Tis not well mended so; it is but botch'd. |
If not, I would it were. |
APEMANTUS. What wouldst thou have to Athens? |
TIMON. Thee thither in a whirlwind. If thou wilt, |
Tell them there I have gold; look, so I have. |
APEMANTUS. Here is no use for gold. |
TIMON. The best and truest; |
For here it sleeps and does no hired harm. |
APEMANTUS. Where liest a nights, Timon? |
TIMON. Under that's above me. |
Where feed'st thou a days, Apemantus? |
APEMANTUS. Where my stomach. finds meat; or rather, where I eat it. |
TIMON. Would poison were obedient, and knew my mind! |
APEMANTUS. Where wouldst thou send it? |
TIMON. To sauce thy dishes. |
APEMANTUS. The middle of humanity thou never knewest, but the |
extremity of both ends. When thou wast in thy gilt and thy |
perfume, they mock'd thee for too much curiosity; in thy rags |
thou know'st none, but art despis'd for the contrary. There's a |
medlar for thee; eat it. |
TIMON. On what I hate I feed not. |
APEMANTUS. Dost hate a medlar? |
TIMON. Ay, though it look like thee. |
APEMANTUS. An th' hadst hated medlars sooner, thou shouldst have |
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