It is vain that you would speak with Timon.

For he is set so only to himself

That nothing but himself which looks like man

Is friendly with him.

Bring us to his cave.

It is our part and promise to th’ Athenians

To speak with Timon.

At all times alike

Men are not still the same: ’twas time and griefs

That framed him thus. Time, with his fairer hand,

Offering the fortunes of his former days,

The former man may make him. Bring us to him

And chance it as it may.

Here is his cave.

Peace and content be here! Lord Timon! Timon,

Look out and speak to friends. The Athenians

By two of their most reverend senate greet thee.

Speak to them, noble Timon.

Thou sun that comforts, burn! Speak and be hanged!

For each true word, a blister, and each false

Be as a cantherizing to the root o’ th’ tongue,

Consuming it with speaking.

Worthy Timon—

Of none but such as you, and you of Timon.

The senators of Athens greet thee, Timon.

[_Aside_.] I thank them and would send them back the plague,

Could I but catch it for them.

O, forget

What we are sorry for ourselves in thee.

The senators with one consent of love

Entreat thee back to Athens, who have thought

On special dignities, which vacant lie

For thy best use and wearing.

They confess

Toward thee forgetfulness too general gross,

Which now the public body, which doth seldom

Play the recanter, feeling in itself

A lack of Timon’s aid, hath sense withal

Of its own fall, restraining aid to Timon,

And send forth us to make their sorrowed render,

Together with a recompense more fruitful

Than their offence can weigh down by the dram,

Ay, even such heaps and sums of love and wealth,

As shall to thee blot out what wrongs were theirs,

And write in thee the figures of their love,

Ever to read them thine.

You witch me in it,

Surprise me to the very brink of tears.

Lend me a fool’s heart and a woman’s eyes

And I’ll beweep these comforts, worthy senators.

Therefore so please thee to return with us,

And of our Athens, thine and ours, to take

The captainship, thou shalt be met with thanks,

Allowed with absolute power, and thy good name

Live with authority. So soon we shall drive back

Of Alcibiades th’ approaches wild,

Who like a boar too savage doth root up

His country’s peace.

And shakes his threatening sword

Against the walls of Athens.

Therefore, Timon—

Well, sir, I will. Therefore I will, sir, thus:

If Alcibiades kill my countrymen,

Let Alcibiades know this of Timon,

That Timon cares not. But if he sack fair Athens

And take our goodly aged men by th’ beards,

Giving our holy virgins to the stain

Of contumelious, beastly, mad-brained war,

Then let him know, and tell him Timon speaks it,

In pity of our aged and our youth,

I cannot choose but tell him that I care not;

And—let him take’t at worst—for their knives care not

While you have throats to answer. For myself,

There’s not a whittle in th’ unruly camp

But I do prize it at my love before

The reverend’st throat in Athens. So I leave you

To the protection of the prosperous gods,

As thieves to keepers.

Stay not, all’s in vain.

Why, I was writing of my epitaph;

It will be seen tomorrow. My long sickness

Of health and living now begins to mend

And nothing brings me all things. Go, live still,

Be Alcibiades your plague, you his,

And last so long enough.

We speak in vain.

But yet I love my country and am not

One that rejoices in the common wrack,

As common bruit doth put it.

That’s well spoke.

Commend me to my loving countrymen.

These words become your lips as they pass through them.

And enter in our ears like great triumphers

In their applauding gates.

Commend me to them,

And tell them that to ease them of their griefs,

Their fears of hostile strokes, their aches, losses,

Their pangs of love, with other incident throes

That nature’s fragile vessel doth sustain

In life’s uncertain voyage, I will some kindness do them;

I’ll teach them to prevent wild Alcibiades’ wrath.

[_Aside_.] I like this well, he will return again.

I have a tree which grows here in my close

That mine own use invites me to cut down,

And shortly must I fell it. Tell my friends,

Tell Athens, in the sequence of degree

From high to low throughout, that whoso please

To stop affliction, let him take his haste,

Come hither ere my tree hath felt the axe

And hang himself. I pray you do my greeting.

Trouble him no further; thus you still shall find him.

Come not to me again, but say to Athens

Timon hath made his everlasting mansion

Upon the beached verge of the salt flood,

Who once a day with his embossed froth

The turbulent surge shall cover; thither come,

And let my gravestone be your oracle.

Lips, let sour words go by, and language end:

What is amiss, plague and infection mend;

Graves only be men’s works and death their gain,

Sun, hide thy beams, Timon hath done his reign.

His discontents are unremovably

Coupled to nature.

Our hope in him is dead. Let us return

And strain what other means is left unto us

In our dear peril.

It requires swift foot.