Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate
With thy most operant poison! What is here?
Gold? Yellow, glittering, precious gold?
No, gods, I am no idle votarist.
Roots, you clear heavens! Thus much of this will make
Black white, foul fair, wrong right,
Base noble, old young, coward valiant.
Ha, you gods, why this? What this, you gods? Why, this
Will lug your priests and servants from your sides,
Pluck stout men’s pillows from below their heads.
This yellow slave
Will knit and break religions, bless th’ accursed,
Make the hoar leprosy adored, place thieves
And give them title, knee, and approbation
With senators on the bench. This is it
That makes the wappened widow wed again;
She whom the spittle-house and ulcerous sores
Would cast the gorge at, this embalms and spices
To th’ April day again. Come, damned earth,
Thou common whore of mankind, that puts odds
Among the rout of nations, I will make thee
Do thy right nature.
[March afar off.]
Ha? A drum? Thou’rt quick,
But yet I’ll bury thee. Thou’lt go, strong thief,
When gouty keepers of thee cannot stand.
Nay, stay thou out for earnest.
[Keeping some gold.]
Enter Alcibiades with drum and fife, in warlike manner, and Phrynia and Timandra.
ALCIBIADES.
What art thou there? Speak.
TIMON.
A beast, as thou art. The canker gnaw thy heart
For showing me again the eyes of man!
ALCIBIADES.
What is thy name? Is man so hateful to thee
That art thyself a man?
TIMON.
I am Misanthropos and hate mankind.
For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog,
That I might love thee something.
ALCIBIADES.
I know thee well,
But in thy fortunes am unlearned and strange.