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Here's to my love !—[Drinks ]O, true apothecary! Thy drugs are quick.--Thus with a kiss I die. [Dies.
TIMON OF ATHENS.
THE PLEASURE OF DOING GOOD.
O, you gods, think I, what need we have any friends, if we should never have need of them? they were the most needless creatures living, should we ne'er have use for them: and would most resemble sweet instruments hung up in cases, that keep their sounds to themselves. Why, I have often wished myself poorer, that I might come nearer to you. We are born to do benefits: and what better or properer can we call our own, than the riches of our friends? O, what a precious comfort 'tis, to have so many, like brothers, commanding one another's fortunes!
A FAITHFUL STEWARD.
So the gods bless me, When all our officest have been oppress'd * Pictures have no hypocrisy; they are what they profess to be.
+ The apartments allotted to culinary offices, &c.
With riotous feeders; when our vaults have wept
They answer, in a joint and corporate voice, That now they are at fallt, want treasure, cannot Do what they would; are sorry—you are honour
able, But yet they could have wish'd—they know notSomething has been amiss—a noble nature [but May catch a wrench—would all were well—'tis
pityAnd so, intendingł other serious matters, After distasteful looks, and these hard fractionsg, With certain half-caps), and cold-moving nods, They froze me into silence.
THE MISERABLE SHIFTS OF INGRATITUDE.
Ser. My honoured lord,
[To Lucius. Luc. Servilius! you are kindly met, sir. Fare thee well: Commend ine to thy honourable virtuous lord, my very exquisite friend.
Ser. May it please your honour, my lord hath sent
Luc. Ha! what has he sent? I am so much en
* A pipe with a turning stopple running to waste.
Intending, had anciently the same meaning as attendinga
deared to that lord; he's ever sending: How shall I thank him, thinkest thou? And what has he sent now?
Ser. He has only sent his present occasion now, my lord; requesting your lordship to supply his instant use with so many talents.
Luc. I know, his lordship is but merry He cannot want fifty-five hundred talents.
Ser. But in the mean time he wants less, my lord.
Luc. Dost thou speak seriously, Servilius?
Luc. What a wicked beast was I, to disfurnish myself against such a good time, when I might have shown myself honourable ? how unluckily it happened, that I should purchase the day before for a little part, and undo a great deal of honour ;-Servilius, now before the gods, I am not able to do't;
I the more beast, I say:-I was sending to use lord Timon myself, these gentlemen can witness; but I would not, for the wealth of Athens, I had done it
Commend me bountifully to his good lordship; and I hope, his honour will conceive the fairest of me, because I have no power to be kind : And tell him this from me, I count it one of my greatest afflictions, say, that I cannot pleasure such an honourable gentleman. Good Servilius, will you befriend me so far, as to use mine own words to him?
Ser. Yes, sir, I shall.
[Exit SERVILIUS. * “ If he did not want it for a good use."
True, as you said, Timon is shrunk, indeed;
Your words have took such pains, as if they la
bour'd To bring manslaughter into form, set quarrelling Upon the head of valour; which, indeed, Is valour misbegot, and came into the world When sects and factions were but newly born He's truly valiant, than can wisely suffer The worst that man can breathe; and make his
wrongs His outsides; wear them like his raiment, carelessly; And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart, To bring it into danger.
SCENE. Without the Walls of Athens.
* Common sewers.
Thy mistress is o'the brothel! son of sixteen,
halt As lamely as their manners! lust and liberty Creep in the minds and marrows of our youth; That 'gainst the stream of virtue they may strive, And drown themselves in riot! itches, blains, Sow all the Athenian bosoms; and their crop Be general leprosy! breath infect breath; That their society, as their friendship, may Be merely poison! Nothing I'll bear from thee, But nakedness, thou detestable town!
A FRIEND FORSAKEN.
As we do turn our backs From our companion, thrown into his grave; So his familiars to his buried fortunes Slink all away; leave their false vows with him, Like empty purses pick'd: and his poor self, A dedicated beggar to the air, With his disease of all-shunn'd poverty, Walks, like contempt, alone.
Earth, yield me roots!
[Digging * i. e. Contrarieties, whose nature it is to waste or destroy each other.
+ For libertinisto.