Be thou a flatterer now, and seek to thrive Tim. Were I like thee, I'd throw away myself. Apem.Thou bastcastaway 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 moss'd trees, That have outlivď 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 Tim. 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 would'st 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 t, but follow'd The sugar'd 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; * From infancy. That numberless upon me stuck, as leaves ON GOLD. $ 0, thou sweet king-killer, and dear divorce [Looking on the Gold. "Twixt natural son and sire! Thou bright defiler Of Hymen's purest bed! thou valiant Mars ! Thou ever young, fresh, lov'd, and delicate wooer, Whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow That lies on Dian's lap! thou visible god, That solder’st close impossibilities, And mak'st them kiss! that speak'st with every tongue, To every purpose ; 0, thou touch * of hearts ! Think, thy slave man rebels; and by thy virtue Set them into confounding odds, that beasts May have the world in empire! TIMON TO THE THIEVES. Why should you want? Behold, the earth hath roots ; Within this mile break forth a hundred springs: 'The oaks bear mast, the briars scarlet hips; The bounteous housewife, nature, on each bush Lays her full mess before you. Want? why want? 1 Thief. We cannot live on grass, on berries, water, As beasts, and birds, and fishes. [fishes; Tim. Nor on the beasts themselves, the birds, and * For touchstone. You must eat men. Yet thanks I must you con, That you are thieves profess'd; that you work not In holier shapes: for there is boundless theft In limited* professions. Rascal thieves, Here's gold: Go, suck the subtle blood of the grape, Till the high fever seeth your blood to froth, And so 'scape hanging: trust not the physician; His antidotes are poison, and he slays More than you rob: take wealth and lives together; Do, villany, do, since you profess to do't, Like workmen. I'll example you with thievery: The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction Robs the vast sea: the moon's an arrant thief, And her pale fire she snatches from the sun: The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves The moon into salt tears: the earth's a thief, That feeds and breeds by a composturet stolen From general excrement: each thing's a thief; The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough power Have uncheck'd theft. Love not yourselves: away; Rob one another. There's more gold: Cut throats; All that you meet are thieves: To Athens, go, Break open shops; nothing can you steal, But thieves do lose it. ON HIS HONEST STEWARD. Forgive my general and exceptless rashness, + Compost, manure. ACT V. PROMISING AND PERFORMANCE. PROMISING is the very air o' the time: it opens the eyes of ex on : 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. WRONG AND INSOLENCE. Now breathless wrong Titus Andronicus. ACT I. MERCY. Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods? THANKS. Thanks, to men Of noble minds, is honourable meed. * The doing of that we said we would do. My lovely Aaron, wherefore look'st thou sad, |