APEMANTUS

Till I be gentle, stay thou for thy good morrow. When thou art Timon's dog, and these Knaves honest. Are they not Athenians? Then I repent not. Thou knowest I do, I called thee by thy name. Of nothing so much, as that I am not Like Timon To knock out and honest Athenians brains. Right, if doing nothing be death by the Law. The best for the innocence. He wrought better that made the Painter, and yet he's but a filthy piece of work. Thy Mother's of my generation: what's she, if I be a Dog? No: I eat not Lords. Oh they eat Lords; So they come by great bellies. So, thou apprehendest it, Take it for thy labour. Not so well as plain-dealing, which will not cast a man a Doit. Not worth my thinking. How now Poet? Thou liest. Yes. Art not a Poet? Then thou liest: Look in thy last work, where thou hast fegin'd him a worthy Fellow. Yes he is worthy of thee, and to pay thee for thy labour. He that loves to be flattered, is worthy of that flat terer. Heavens, that I were a Lord. E'ne as Apemantus does now, hate a Lord with my heart. I. That I had no angry wit to be a Lord. Art not thou a Merchant? Traffic confound thee, if the Gods will not. Trafficks thy God, & thy God confound thee. So, so; their Aches contract, and starve your supple joints: that there should be small love amongst these sweet Knaves, and all this Courtesy. The strain of men bred out into Baboon and Monkey. Time to be honest. The most accursed thou that still omitst it. I, to see meat fill Knaves, and Wine heat fools. Thou art a Fool to bid me farewell twice. Shouldst have kept one to thy self, for I mean to give thee none. No I will do nothing at thy bidding: Make thy requests to thy Friend. I will fly Like a dog, the heals of the Ass. Dost Dialogue with thy shadow? No it's to thy self. Come away. No thou standest single, the art not on him yet. He last asked the question. Poor Rogues, and Usurers men, Bawds between Gold and want. Asses. Good, Gramercy. Would I had a Rod in my mouth, that I might answer thee profitably. Canst not read? There will little Learning die then that day thou art hanged. This is to Lord Timon, this to Alcibiades. Go thou was't born a Bastard, and thou'lt die a Bawd. E'ne so thou out-runst Grace, Fool I will go with you to Lord Timon's. If Timon stay at home. You three serve three Usurers? So would I: As good a trick as ever Hangman served Thief. That answer might have become Apemantus. Come with me (Fool) come. I was directed hither. Men report, Thou dost affect my Manners, and dost use them. This is in thee a Nature but infected, A poor unmanly Melancholy sprung From change of future. Why this Spade? this place? This Slavelike Habit, and these looks of Care? Thy Flatterers yet wear Silk, drink Wine, lie soft, Hug their diseased Perfumes, and have forgotten That ever Timon was. Shame not these Woods, By pa cing on the cunning of a Carper. Be thou a Flatterer now, and seek to thrive By that which ha undone thee; hinge thy knee, And let his very breath whom thou'lt observe Blow off thy Cap: praise his most vicious strain, And call it excellent: thou wast told thus: Thou gavest thine ears (Like Tapsters, that bade welcome) To Knaves, and all approachers: It's most joust That thou turn Rascal, hadst thou wealth again, Rascals should haue't. Do not assume my likeness. Thou hast cast away thy self, being Like thy self A Madman so long, now a Fool: what thinkest That the bleak air, thy boisterous Chamberlain Will put thy shirt on warm? Will these moist Trees, That have outlived the Eagle, page thy heals And skip when thou pointest out? Will the cold brook Candied with Ice, Cawdle thy Morning taste To cure thy o're-nights surfeit? Call the Creatures, Whose naked Nature's live in all the spite Of wrekefull Heaven, whose bore unhoused Trunks To the conflicting Elements exposed Answer mere Nature: bid them flatter thee. Oh thou shalt find. I love thee better now, then ere I did. Why? I flatter not, but say thou art a Caitiff. To vex thee. I. 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 Wertenberg thou not Beggar: willing misery Outlives: incertain pomp, is crowned before: The one is filling still, never complete: The other, at high wish: best state Contentless, Hath a distracted and most wretched being, Worse then the worst, Content. Thou shouldst desire to die, being miserable. Art thou proud yet? I, that I was no Prodigal. Here, I will mend thy Feast. So I shall mend mine own, by' the lack of thine What wouldst thou have to Athens? Here is no use for Gold. Where liest a nights Timon ? Where my stomach finds meat, or rather where I eat it. Where wouldst thou send it? The middle of Humanity thou never knewest, but the extremity of both ends. When thou wast in thy Gilded, and thy Perfume, they mocked thee for too much Curiosity: in thy Rags thou knowest none, but art de spis'd for the contrary. There's a meddler for thee, eat it. Dost hate a Meddler? And the hadst hated Meddlers sooner, y u shouldst have loved thy self better now. What man didst thou ever know unthrift, that was beloved after his means? My self. Give it the Beasts, to be rid of the men. I Timon. If thou couldst please me With speaking to me, thou mightest Have hit upon it here. The Commonwealth of Athens, is become A Forest of Beasts. Yonder comes a Poet and a Painter: The plague of Company light upon thee: I will fear to catch it, and give way. When I know not what else to do, I'll see thee again. Thou art the Cap Of all the Fools alive. A plague on thee, Thou art too bade to curse. There is no Leprosy, But what thou speakest. I would my tongue Could rot them off. Would thou wouldst burst. Beast. Toad. Would 'twere so, But not till I am dead. I'll say the hast Gold: Thou wilt be thronged too shortly. I. Live, and love thy misery. More things Like men, Eat Timon, and abhor then. Ho ho, confessed it? Handg'd it? Have you not? No: You shall not make me welcome: I come to have thee thrust me out of doors. Let me stay at thine apperill Timon, I come to observe, I give thee warning on't. I scorn thy meat, 'twould choke me: for I should never flatter thee. O you Gods! What a number of men eats Timon, and he sees they not? It grieves me to see so many dip there meat in one men blood, and all the madness is, he cheers them up too. I wonder men dare trust themselves with men. Me thinks they should enuite them without knives, Good for there meat, and safer for their lives. There's much example for't, the fellow that sits next him, now parts bred with him, pledges the breath of him in a divided draught: is the readiest man to kill him, 'Tas been proved, if I were a huge man I should fear to drink at meals, least they should spy my windpipes dangerous notes, great men should drink with harness on their throats. Flow this way? A brave fellow. He keeps his tides well, those healths will make thee and thy state look ill, Timon. Here's that which is too weak to be a sinner, Honest water, which never left man in the mire: This and my food are equals, there's no ods, Feasts are to proud to give thanks to the Gods. Immortal Gods, I crave no pelf, I pray for no man but my self, Grant I may never prove so found, To trust man on his Oath or Bound. Or a Harlot for her weeping, Or a Dog that seems asleeping, Or a keeper with my freedom, Or my friends if I should needs they. Amen. So fallen too't: Richmen sin, and I eat root. Much good do thy good heart, Apermantus Would all those Flatterers were thine Enemies then, that then thou mightest kill they: & bid me to they. Thou weepest to make them drink, Timon. Ho, ho: I laugh to think that babe a bastard. Much. Heyday, What a sweep of vanity comes this way. They dance? They are mad women, Like Madness is the glory of this life, As this pomp shows to a little oil and root. We make our selves Fools, to disport our selves, And spend our Flatteries, to drink those men, Upon whose Age we void it up again With poisonous Spite and Envy. Who lives, that's not depraved, or depraues; Who die, that bears not one spurn to their graves Of their Friends gift: I should fear, those that dance before me now, Would one day stamp upon me: 'Tas be done, Men shut their doors against a setting Sun. Faith for the worst is filthy, and would not hold taking, I doubt me. What a coils here, serving of becks, and jut ting out of bummes. I doubt whither their Legs be worth the sums that are given for they. Friendships full of dregs, Me thinks false hearts, should never have found legs. Thus honest Fools lay out their wealth on Curtsies. No, I'll nothing; for if I should be bribed too, there would be none left to rail vponthee, and then thou wouldst sin the faster. Thou givest so long Timon (I fear me) thou wilt give away thy self in paper shortly. What needs these Feasts, pomps, and Vainglories? So: Thou wilt not hear me now, thou shalt not then. I'll lock thy heaven from thee: O that men's ears should be To counsel deaf, but not to Flattery. That you ask me what you are, & do not know your selves. Speak to they Fool. Do it then, that we may account thee a Whore master, and a Knave, which notwithstanding thou shalt be no less esteemed. What things in the world canst thou nearest compare to thy Flatterers?