The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) (1043 page)

And mince it sans remorse: swear against objects;

Put armour on thine ears and on thine eyes;

Whose proof, nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes,

Nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding,

Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay soldiers:

Make large confusion; and, thy fury spent,

Confounded be thyself! Speak not, be gone.

Because by killing villains

you shall conquer my country.

Put away your gold. Go on. Here's some gold. Go on.

Be like a plague from the heavens, when Jove

blows his poison through the sick air of some

immoral city. Don't let your sword miss a single person.

Don't pity the old man for his white beard:

he's a moneylender. Cut down the fake lady for me:

it's only her clothes which are respectable,

she is a tart. Don't let the virgin's looks

hold back your sword: those white breasts,

which peep through their dresses to catch men's eyes,

not included on the list of things to be spared,

they are written down as horrible traitors. Don't spare the baby

whose sweet smile gains mercy from false:

think of it as a bastard, whom the Oracle

has terrifyingly predicted will cut your throat,

and chop it up without pity. Don't let any protests put you off.

Cover up your ears and your eyes with armour

through whose strength the yells of mothers, maids or babies,

nor the sight of priests bleeding in their holy robes

cannot pierce. Here's gold to pay your soldiers.

Cause great chaos; and, when your anger is spent,

be damned to you! Don't speak, go.

ALCIBIADES

Hast thou gold yet? I'll take the gold thou

givest me,

Not all thy counsel.

Do you still have gold? I'll take the gold you give me,

not your advice.

TIMON

Dost thou, or dost thou not, heaven's curse

upon thee!

May heaven curse you, whether you do or not!

PHRYNIA TIMANDRA

Give us some gold, good Timon: hast thou more?

Give us some gold, good Timon: do you have more?

TIMON

Enough to make a whore forswear her trade,

And to make whores, a bawd. Hold up, you sluts,

Your aprons mountant: you are not oathable,

Although, I know, you 'll swear, terribly swear

Into strong shudders and to heavenly agues

The immortal gods that hear you,--spare your oaths,

I'll trust to your conditions: be whores still;

And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you,

Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up;

Let your close fire predominate his smoke,

And be no turncoats: yet may your pains, six months,

Be quite contrary: and thatch your poor thin roofs

With burthens of the dead;--some that were hang'd,

No matter:--wear them, betray with them: whore still;

Paint till a horse may mire upon your face,

A pox of wrinkles!

Enough to make a whore give up her business,

to turn whores into brothel keepers. You sluts,

hold out your aprons. You can't be made to swear oaths,

although I know you'll swear, swear terribly

so that the awful gods that listen to you will be sent into fits

and trembling. Don't bother with oaths:

I'll trust your nature. Remain as whores;

and when someone tries to convert you with pious words,

be a strong whore, draw him in, burn him up;

let your burning passions triumph over his piety,

and don't be traitors; but I hope you also suffer

for the next six months. And cover

your poor thin hair with wigs made from the hair of the dead–

some of them were hanged, it doesn't matter;

wear them and use them for betrayal: remain a whore;

put on so much paint that a horse could sink in it:

be damned to wrinkles!

PHRYNIA TIMANDRA

Well, more gold: what then?

Believe't, that we'll do any thing for gold.

Good, more gold: what then?

You can be sure that we will do anything for gold.

TIMON

Consumptions sow

In hollow bones of man; strike their sharp shins,

And mar men's spurring. Crack the lawyer's voice,

That he may never more false title plead,

Nor sound his quillets shrilly: hoar the flamen,

That scolds against the quality of flesh,

And not believes himself: down with the nose,

Down with it flat; take the bridge quite away

Of him that, his particular to foresee,

Smells from the general weal: make curl'd-pate

ruffians bald;

And let the unscarr'd braggarts of the war

Derive some pain from you: plague all;

That your activity may defeat and quell

The source of all erection. There's more gold:

Do you damn others, and let this damn you,

And ditches grave you all!

Sow consumption

into the hollow bones of man; rot their legs

to spoil their riding. Ruin the lawyer's throat,

so he can never act for the fraudster again,

or make his quibbling arguments: give the clap

to the priest who speaks against the weaknesses of the flesh

and doesn't follow his own teaching: rot away his nose,

make it flat; remove the bridge completely of

the one who, in order to look after himself,

steals from the public. Make curly haired ruffians bald,

and let the unscarred boasting soldier

get a wound from you: give the clap to them all,

so that your activity can subdue

all lust. There's more gold.

You damn others, and let this damn you,

and may you all die in the ditch!

PHRYNIA TIMANDRA

More counsel with more money, bounteous Timon.

Give us more advice and more money, generous Timon.

TIMON

More whore, more mischief first; I have given you earnest.

I want to see you causing more whorish mischief first; I have paid your fee.

ALCIBIADES

Strike up the drum towards Athens! Farewell, Timon:

If I thrive well, I'll visit thee again.

Strike up the drum for the march on Athens! Farewell, Timon:

if I succeed, I'll visit you again.

TIMON

If I hope well, I'll never see thee more.

If I get my wish, I'll never see you again.

ALCIBIADES

I never did thee harm.

I never did you any harm.

TIMON

Yes, thou spokest well of me.

You did, you spoke well of me.

ALCIBIADES

Call'st thou that harm?

Do you call that doing harm?

TIMON

Men daily find it. Get thee away, and take

Thy beagles with thee.

Men find it is every day. Off you go, and take

your dogs with you.

ALCIBIADES

We but offend him. Strike!

We're just upsetting him. Strike up the march!

Drum beats. Exeunt ALCIBIADES, PHRYNIA, and TIMANDRA

TIMON

That nature, being sick of man's unkindness,

Should yet be hungry! Common mother, thou,

Digging

Whose womb unmeasurable, and infinite breast,

Teems, and feeds all; whose self-same mettle,

Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is puff'd,

Engenders the black toad and adder blue,

The gilded newt and eyeless venom'd worm,

With all the abhorred births below crisp heaven

Whereon Hyperion's quickening fire doth shine;

Yield him, who all thy human sons doth hate,

From forth thy plenteous bosom, one poor root!

Ensear thy fertile and conceptious womb,

Let it no more bring out ingrateful man!

Go great with tigers, dragons, wolves, and bears;

Teem with new monsters, whom thy upward face

Hath to the marbled mansion all above

Never presented!--O, a root,--dear thanks!--

Dry up thy marrows, vines, and plough-torn leas;

Whereof ungrateful man, with liquorish draughts

And morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind,

That from it all consideration slips!

It's amazing that people who have had an overdose of man's unkindness

still want more! Universal mother, you

[digging]

whose infinite womb and breast

breeds and feeds everything; the same essence

which makes your proud child, arrogant man,

also makes the black toad and the blue adder,

the golden newt and blind poisonous worm,

and all the other revolting births below the

pure sky where the sun shines;

give the person whom all your human sons hate

just one poor root from your bounty!

Seal up your fertile and prolific womb,

don't give birth to any more ungrateful men!

Become pregnant with tigers, dragons, wolves and bears;

swell with new monsters, which have never

before been seen on the face of the earth!

Oh, a root!–Much thanks!–

Dry up all vegetables, vines and ploughed fields,

which ungrateful man uses to make liquor and

greasy food, which makes his pure mind so greasy

that all ability to think slips from it!

Enter APEMANTUS

More man? plague, plague!

More humanity? A plague on it!

APEMANTUS

I was directed hither: men report

Thou dost affect my manners, and dost use them.

I was told to come here. Men are saying

that you are copying me.

TIMON

'Tis, then, because thou dost not keep a dog,

Whom I would imitate: consumption catch thee!

If I am it's only because you haven't got a dog

I could imitate instead: may consumption overwhelm you!

APEMANTUS

This is in thee a nature but affected;

A poor unmanly melancholy sprung

From change of fortune. Why this spade? this place?

This slave-like habit? and these looks of care?

Thy flatterers yet wear silk, drink wine, lie soft;

Hug their diseased perfumes, and have forgot

That ever Timon was. Shame not these woods,

By putting on the cunning of a carper.

Be thou a flatterer now, and seek to thrive

By that which has 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 bid welcome

To knaves and all approachers: 'tis most just

That thou turn rascal; hadst thou wealth again,

Rascals should have 't. Do not assume my likeness.