Whereon Hyperion's quickning fire doth shine;
Yield him, who all thy human fons do hate,
From forth thy plenteous bofom, one poor root!
Enfear thy fertile and conceptious womb;
Let it no more bring out ingrateful man.

Go great with tygers, dragons, wolves and bears,
Teem with new monsters, whom thy upward face
Hath to the marbled manfion all above

Never prefented.

-O, a root

dear thanks !

(11) Dry up thy marrows, veins, and plough-torn leas,,
Whereof ingrateful man with liq'rifh draughts,
And morfels unctuous, greafes his pure mind,
That from it all confideration flips.

Timon's Difcourfe with Apemantus.

Apem. This is in thee a nature but affected,
A poor unmanly melancholy, fprung

From change of fortune. Why this fpade? this place?
This flave-like habit, and these looks of care?
Thy flatt'rers yet wear filk, drink wine, lie foft;
Hug their difeas'd perfumes, and have forgot
That ever Timon was. Shame not these (12) weeds,

By

(11) Dry up] Mr. Warburton reads here, Dry up thy barrezu’di veins, and plough-torn leas; and the Oxford editor,

Dry up thy meadows, vineyards, plough-torn leas. The Oxford editor has fome ground for his criticifm, for I find in the folio, marrows, vines, &c. and for Mr. Warburton's, there is indeed fomething to be faid, tho' he must observe, the metaphor is not kept up by his alteration (for 'tis to keep up the metaphor he alters) except another flight emendation be made of leas into limbs!

(12) Weeds] This was woods, till, alter'd by Mr. Warburton we may obferve, Apemantus frequently reproaches Timon with his change of garb..

This flave-like habit

This fowr cold habit on,

By putting on the cunning of a carper.
Be thou a flatt'rer now, and feek to thrive
By that which has undone thee; hinge thy knee,
And let his very breath whom thou'lt obferve
Blow off thy cap; praise his most vicious strain,
And call it excellent. Thou waft told thus :

Thou gav'ft thine ears, like tapfters, that bid wel.

come

To knaves, and all approachers: 'tis moft juft
That thou turn rascal: hadft thou wealth again,
Rafcals fhould have't. Do not affume my likeness.

Tim. Were I like thee, I'd throw away myself. Apem. Thou'ft caft away thyfelf, being like thyself, So long a madman, now a fool.

thou,

What, think'ft

That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain,
Will put thy fhirt on warm? will these mofs'd trees
That have out-liv'd the eagle, page thy heels,

And fkip when thou point'ft out will the cold. brook,

Candied with ice, cawdle thy morning taste.

To cure thy o'er-night's furfeit? Call the creatures,
Whose naked natures live in all the fpight

Of wreakful heav'n, whofe bare unhoused trunks,
To the conflicting elements expos'd,

Anfwer meer nature; bid them flatter thee;«

Oh! thou shalt find

Tim. Thou art a flave, whom fortune's tender arm With favour never clafp'd; but bred a dog. Hadft thou, like us, from our firft fwath proceeded Through fweet degrees that this brief world affords, To fuch, as may the paffive drugs of it

Freely command; thou wouldst have plung'd thyfelf In general riot, melted down thy youth

Mofs'd, Oxf. edit. vulg, moist.

In

In different beds of luft, and never learn'd
The icy precepts of refpect, but followed
The fugar'd game before thee. But myself,
Who had the world as my confectionary,

The mouths, the tongues, the eyes, the hearts of

men

At duty, more than I could frame employments;
That numberless upon me ftuck, as leaves
Do on the oak; have with one winter's brush
Fall'n from their boughs, and left me open, bare
For every storm that blows. I to bear this,
That never knew but better, is some burthen,
Thy nature did commence in fuff'rance; time

Hath made the hard in't. Why shouldst thou hate

men?
They never flatter'd thee. What haft thou given ?
If thou wilt curfe thy father, that poor rag,
Must be thy fubject; who in fpight put stuff
To fome fhe-beggar, and compounded thee
Poor rogue hereditary. Hence! be gone
If thou hadst not been born the worst of men,
Thou hadst been knave and flatterer.

On Gold.

O, thou sweet king-killer, and dear divorce [Looking on the gold. 'Twixt natural fon and fire! thou bright defiler Of Hymen's pureft bed! thou valiant Mars! Thou ever young, fresh, lov'd and delicate wooer, (13) Whose blush doth thaw the confecrated fnow,

That

(13) Whose blufp, &c.] The imagery here is exquifitely beautiful and fublime; and that ftill heightened by allufion to a fable and cuftom of antiquity, viz. the ftory of Danae and the golden fhower and the ufe of confecrating to a god or goddefs, that which, from a fimilarity of nature, they were fuppofed to hold in esteem. Warburton.

That lies on Dian's lap thou visible God,

That fouldreft close impoffibilities,

And mak'ft them kifs! that speak'ft with every tongue,

To every purpose! Oh, thou touch of hearts!
Think, thy flave man rebels; and by thy virtue
Set them into confounding odds, that beafts
May have the world in empire.

SCENE VII. Timon, to the Thieves.

Why should you want? behold, the earth hath

roots,

Within this mile break forth an hundred springs;
The oaks bear mafts, the briers fcarlet hips:
The bounteous hufwife nature on each bufh
Lays her full mefs before you. Want? why want?
Thief. We cannot live on grafs, on berries, water,
As beafts, and birds, and fifhes.

Tim. Nor on the beafts themselves, the birds and fishes:

You must eat men. Yet thanks I muft you con,
That you are thieves profeft; that you work not
In holier fhapes for there is boundless theft

In limited profeffions. Rafcals, thieves,

Here's gold. Go, fuck the fubtle blood o'th grape, Till the high fever feeth your blood to froth,

And fo fcape hanging.

His antidotes are poifon,

Truft not the phyfician,

and he flays

More than you rob; takes wealth and life together
Do villany, do, fince you profefs to do't,
Like workmen; I'll example you with thievery,
The fun's a thief, and with his great attraction
Robs the vast fea. The moon's an arrant thief,

And

* Takes wealth and life together; Oxford-edit vulg. Take wealth and live together,

And her pale fire fhe fnatches from the fun.
The fea's a thief, whofe liquid furge refolves
The (14) mounds into falt tears. The earth's a thief,
That feeds and breeds by a composture ftol'n
From gen'ral excrements: each thing's a thief.
The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough power
Have uncheck'd theft. Love not yourfelves, away,
Rob one another, there's more gold; cut throats ;
All that you meet are thieves: to Athens go,
Break open shops, for nothing can you steal
But thieves do lofe it.

ACT V.

SCENE I

On his boneft Steward.

Forgive my gen'ral and exceptless rashness,
Perpetual, fober gods! I do proclaim
One honeft man; mistake me not, but one:
No more, I pray; and he's a fteward.

How fain would I have hated all mankind,
And thou redeem'ft thyfelf: but all, fave thee,
I fell with curfes.

(15) Methinks, thou art more honeft now, than wife For, by oppreffing and betraying me,

Thou might'ft have sooner got another service:
For many
fo arrive at second masters,
Upon their first lord's neck.

(14) Mounds] This formerly was moon, and the alteration is claimed by Mr. Theobald and Mr. Warburton: the opinion they fuppofe our author alludes to, is, that the faltnefs of the fea is caused by several ranges or mounds of rock-falt under water, with which refolving liquor the fea was impregnated. The whole of this feems to be a good deal in the manner of Anacreon's celebrated drinking ode, too well known to be inferted here.

(15) Methinks, &c.] See Othello, p. 160,

SCENA