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.
FLAVIUS.
Stay not, all’s in vain.
TIMON.
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.
FIRST SENATOR.
We speak in vain.
TIMON.
But yet I love my country and am not
One that rejoices in the common wrack,
As common bruit doth put it.
FIRST SENATOR.
That’s well spoke.
TIMON.
Commend me to my loving countrymen.
FIRST SENATOR.
These words become your lips as they pass through them.
SECOND SENATOR.
And enter in our ears like great triumphers
In their applauding gates.
TIMON.
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.