Act iv. sc. 3, l. 475

And so his ungoverned passion of hatred goes on until it culminates in the epitaph placed on his tomb, which he names his “everlasting mansion,”—

“Upon the beached verge of the salt flood.”

That epitaph as given by Shakespeare, from North’s _Plutarch_ (edition 1579, p. 1003), is almost a literal rendering from the real epitaph recorded in the Greek Anthology (Jacobs, vol. i. p. 86),—

“Ἐνθάδ’ ἀποῤῥηξας ψυχὴν βαρυδαίμονα κεῖμαι, Τοὔνομα δ’ οὐ πεύσεσθε, κακοὶ δὲ κακῶς ἀπόλοισθε.”

Of which a very close translation will be,—

“Here, having rent asunder a dæmon oppressed soul, I lie; The name ye shall not inquire, but ye bad ones badly shall perish.”

The epitaph of the drama (_Timon of Athens_, act v. sc. 4, l. 69, vol. vii. p. 305) is thus read by Alcibiades from the wax impression taken at the tomb,—

“Here lies a wretched corse, of wretched soul bereft: Seek not my name: a plague consume you wicked caitiffs left! Here lie I, Timon; who, alive, all living men did hate: Pass by and curse thy fill: but pass and stay not here thy gait.”

Plutarch[175] introduces a mention of Timon into the life of Marc Antony, whom he compares in some respects to the misanthrope of Athens. He gives the same epitaph as that of the Anthology above quoted, except a letter or two,—

“Ἐνθαδ’ ἀποῤῥήξας ψυχὴν βαρυδαίμονα κεῖμαι, Τοὔνομα δ’ οὐ πευσοισθε, κακοὶ δὲ κακῶς ἀπόλοισθε.”

Plutarch avers, “καὶ τοὺτο μὲν αὐτὸν ἔτιζῶντα πεποιηκέναι λέγουσι,”—“And people say that during his life he himself made this epitaph.” The narrator then adds, “τοὺτο δε περιφερόμενον, Καλλιμάχου εστι,”—“But this round the margin is by Callimachus,”—

“Τίμων μισάνθρωπος ἐσοικέω· ἀλλα πάρελθε Οἰμώζειν εἴπας πολλὰ, πάρελθε μόνον.”

“I, Timon the manhater dwell within: but pass by, To bewail _me_ thou hast spoken many things;—only pass by.“

The two epitaphs Shakespeare has combined into one, showing indeed his acquaintance with the above passage through North’s _Plutarch_, but not discriminating the authorship of the two parts. North’s translation of the epitaphs is simple and expressive, but the Langhornes, in 1770, vulgarise the lines into,—

“At last I’ve bid the knaves farewell Ask not my name, but go to hell.”

“My name is Timon: knaves begone, Curse me, but come not near my stone.”

How Wrangham, in his edition of the Langhornes, 1826, could without notice let this pass for a translation, is altogether unaccountable!

Shakespeare’s, adapted as it is by Sir Thomas North in 1612, may certainly be regarded as a direct version from the Greek, and might reasonably be adduced to prove that he possessed some knowledge of that language. Probably, however, he collected, as he could, the general particulars respecting the veritable and historical Timon, and obtained the help of some man of learning so as to give the very epitaph which in the time of the Peloponnesian war had been placed on the thorn-surrounded sepulchre of the Athenian misanthrope.

To conclude this notice we may observe that the breaking of the legs, which Sambucus mentions, is said to have been the actual cause of the real Timon’s death; for that in his hatred of mankind he even hated himself, and would not allow a surgeon to attempt his cure.

Envy and Hatred may be considered as nearly allied, the latter too often springing from the former. Alciat, in his 71st Emblem, gives a brief description of Envy,—

“SQVALLIDA _vipereas manducans femina carnes, Cuiq. dolent oculi, quæq. suum cor edit, Quam macies & pallor habent, spinosaq. gestat Tela manu: talis pingitur Inuidia._”

Thus amplified with considerable force of expression by Whitney (p. 94),[176]—

_Inuidiæ deſcriptio._

“WHAT hideous hagge with visage sterne appeares? Whose feeble limmes, can scarce the bodie staie: This, Enuie is: leane, pale, and full of yeares, Who with the blisse of other pines awaie. And what declares, her eating vipers broode? That poysoned thoughtes, bee euermore her foode.

What meanes her eies? so bleared, sore, and redd: Her mourninge still, to see an others gaine. And what is mente by snakes vpon her head? The fruite that springes, of such a venomed braine. But whie, her harte shee rentes within her brest? It shewes her selfe, doth worke her owne vnrest.

Whie lookes shee wronge? bicause shee woulde not see, An happie wight, which is to her a hell: What other partes within this furie bee? Her harte, with gall: her tonge, with stinges doth swell. And laste of all, her staffe with prickes aboundes: Which showes her wordes, wherewith the good shee woundes.”

The dramatist speaks of the horrid creature with equal power. Among his phrases are,—

“Thou makest thy knife keen; but no metal can, No, not the hangman’s axe, bear half the keenness Of thy sharp envy.” _Merchant of Venice_, act iv. sc. 1, l. 124

“And for we think the eagle-winged pride Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts, With rival-hating envy, set on you To wake our peace.” _Richard II._, act i. sc. 3, l. 129

“Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake’s groan, I would invent as bitter-searching terms, As curst, as harsh and horrible to hear, Deliver’d strongly through my fixed teeth, With full as many signs of deadly hate, As lean-faced Envy in her loathsome cave.” _2 Hen. VI._, act iii. sc. 2, l. 310

“’tis greater skill In a true hate, to pray they have their will: The very devils cannot plague them better.” _Cymbeline_, act ii. sc. 5, l. 33

“Men that make Envy and crooked malice nourishment Dare bite the best.” _Hen. VIII._, act v. sc. 3, l. 43

“That monster envy.” _Pericles_, act iv. _Introd._, l. 12

The ill-famed Thersites, that railer of the Grecian camp, may close the array against “the hideous hagge with visage sterne” (_Troilus and Cressida_, act ii. sc. 3, l. 18, vol. vi. p. 169),—

“I have said my prayers; and devil Envy say Amen.”

The wrong done to the soul, through denying it at the last hour the consolations of religion, or through negligence in not informing it of its danger when severe illness arises, is set forth with true Shakespearean power in Holbein’s _Simulachres & Historiees faces de la Mort_ (Lyons, 1538), on sign. Nij,—

“O si ceulx, qui font telles choses, scauoient le mal qu’ilz font, ilz ne cõmettroient iamais vne si grande faulte. Car de me oster mes biens, persecuter ma personne, denigrer ma renommée, ruyner ma maison, destruire mõ parẽtaige, scãdalizer ma famille, criminer ma vie, ces ouures sõt dũg cruel ennemy. Mais d’estre occasion, q̃ ie perde mõ ame, pour nõ la cõseiller au besoing, c’est vne oeuure dũg diable d’Enfer. Car pire est q̃ vng diable l’hõme, qui trompe le malade.”

It is in a similar strain that Shakespeare in _Othello_ (act iii. sc. 3, lines 145 and 159, vol. viii. pp. 512, 513) speaks of the wrong done by keeping back confidence, and by countenancing calumny,—

“_Oth._ Thou dost conspire against thy friend, Iago, If thou but think’st him wrong’d and mak’st his ear A stranger to thy thoughts. . . . . . . . . _Iago._ It were not for your quiet nor your good, Nor for my manhood, honesty, or wisdom, To let you know my thoughts. _Oth._ What dost thou mean? _Iago._ Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, Is the immediate jewel of their souls: Who steals my purse steals trash; ’tis something, nothing; ’Twas mine, ’tis his, and has been slave to thousands; But he that filches from me my good name Robs me of that which not enriches him And makes me poor indeed.”

The gallant ship, courageously handled and with high soul of perseverance and fearlessness guided through adverse waves, has for long ages been the type of brave men and brave women struggling against difficulties, or of states and nations amid opposing influences battling for deliverance and victory. Even if that gallant ship fails in her voyage she becomes a fitting type, how “human affairs may decline at their highest.” So Sambucus, and Whitney after him (p. 11), adapt their device and stanzas to the motto,—

Res humanæ in ſummo declinant.

IN _medio librat Phœbus dum lumina cælo, Diſſoluit radiis, quæ cecidere, niues. Cùm res humanæ in ſummo ſtant, ſæpe liqueſcunt: Et nihil æternum, quod rapit atra dies. Nil iuuat ingentes habitare palatia Reges, Conditio miſeros hæc eadémque manet. Mors æquat cunctos, opibus nec parcit in horam, Verbáque dum Volitant, ocyus illa venit. Heu, leuiter ventus pellit nos omnis inermes, Concidimus citiùs quàm leuat aura roſas._

“The gallante Shipp, that cutts the azure surge, And hathe both tide, and wisshed windes, at will: Her tackle sure, with shotte her foes to vrge, With Captaines boulde, and marriners of skill, With streamers, flagges, topgallantes, pendantes braue, When Seas do rage, is swallowed in the waue.

The snowe, that falles vppon the mountaines greate, Though on the Alpes, which seeme the clowdes to reache, Can not indure the force of Phœbus heate, But wastes awaie, Experience doth vs teache: Which warneth all, on Fortunes wheele that clime To beare in minde how they haue but a time.”

But with brighter auguries, though from a similar device, Alciat (Emb. 43) shadows forth hope for a commonwealth when dangers are threatening. A noble vessel with its sails set is tossing upon the billows, the winds, however, wafting it forward; then it is he gives utterance to the thought, _Constancy the Companion of Victory_; and thus illustrates his meaning,[177]—

“By storms that are numberless our Commonwealth is shaken, And hope for safety in the future, hope alone is present: So a ship with the ocean about her, when the winds seize her, Gapes with wide fissures ’mid the treacherous waters. What of help, the shining stars, brothers of Helen, can bring: To spirits cast down good hope soon doth restore.”

Whitney (p. 37), from the same motto and device, almost with a clarion’s sound, re-echoes the thought,—

_Constantia comes victoriæ._ _To_ MILES CORBET _Esſquier._

“THE shippe, that longe vppon the sea dothe saile, And here, and there, with varrijng windes is toste: On rockes, and sandes, in daunger ofte to quaile. Yet at the lengthe, obtaines the wished coaste: Which beinge wonne, the trompetts ratlinge blaste, Dothe teare the skie, for ioye of perills paste.

Thoughe master reste, thoughe Pilotte take his ease, Yet nighte, and day, the ship her course dothe keepe: So, whilst that man dothe saile theise worldlie seas, His voyage shortes: althoughe he wake, or sleepe. And if he keepe his course directe, he winnes That wished porte, where lastinge ioye beginnes.”

To a similar purport is the “FINIS CORONAT OPVS,” _The end crowns the work_,—of Otho Vænius (p. 108), if perchance Shakespeare may have seen it. Cupid is watching a sea-tossed ship, and appears to say,—

“_Ni ratis optatum varijs iactata procellis Obtineat portum, tum perijsse puta. Futilis est diuturnus amor, ni in fine triumphet, Nam benè cœpit opus, qui benè finit opus._”

[Sidenote: _i.e._]

“Unless the raft though tossed by various storms The port desired obtains, think that it perishes; Vain is the daily love if it no triumph forms, For well he work begins, who well work finishes.”

Thus, however, rendered at the time into English and Italian,—

“_Where the end is good all is good._”

“The ship toste by the waues doth to no purpose saile, Vnlesse the porte shee gayn whereto her cours doth tend. Right so th’ euent of loue appeereth in the end, For losse it is to loue and neuer to preuaile.”

“Il fine corona l’opere.”

“_Inutile è la naue, che in mar vaga Senza prender giamai l’amato porto: Impiagato d’Amor quel cor’ è à torto, Che con vano sperar mai non s’appaga._”

Messin in his translation of Boissard’s _Emblems_ (edition 1588, p. 24), takes the motto, “AV NAVIRE AGITÉ _semble le jour de l’homme_,” and dilates into four stanzas the neatly expressed single stanza of the original.

“_Vita hæc est tanquam pelago commissa carina, Instanti semper proxima naufragio. Optima res homini est non nasci: proxima, si te Nasci fata velent, quàm citò posse mori._”

[Sidenote: _i.e._]

“This life is as a keel entrusted to the sea, Ever to threatening shipwreck nearest. Not to be born for man is best; next, if to thee The fates give birth, quick death is dearest.”

Shakespeare takes up these various ideas of which the ship in storm and in calm is typical, and to some of them undoubtedly gives utterance from the lips of the dauntless Margaret of Anjou (_3 Henry VI._, act v. sc. 4, l. 1, vol. v. p. 325),—

“Great lords, wise men ne’er sit and wail their loss, But cheerly seek how to redress their harms. What though the mast be now blown overboard, The cable broke, our holding-anchor lost, And half our sailors swallow’d in the flood? Yet lives our pilot still: Is’t meet that he Should leave the helm and like a fearful lad With tearful eyes add water to the sea And give more strength to that which hath too much; Whiles, in his moan, the ship splits on the rock, Which industry and courage might have saved? Ah, what a shame! ah, what a fault were this! Say, Warwick was our anchor; what of that? And Montague our top-mast; what of him? Our slaughter’d friends the tackles; what of these? Why, is not Oxford here another anchor? And Somerset another goodly mast? The friends of France our shrouds and tacklings? And, though unskilful, why not Ned and I For once allow’d the skilful pilot’s charge? We will not from the helm to sit and weep, But keep our course, though the rough wind say,—no, From shelves and rocks that threaten us with wreck. As good to chide the waves as speak them fair. And what is Edward but a ruthless sea? What Clarence but a quicksand of deceit? And Richard but a rugged fatal rock? All these the enemies to our poor bark. Say, you can swim; alas, ’tis but a while: Tread on the sand; why, there you quickly sink: Bestride the rock; the tide will wash you off, Or else you famish; that’s a threefold death. This speak I, lords, to let you understand, If case some one of you would fly from us, That there’s no hoped-for mercy with the brothers More than with ruthless waves, with sands and rocks. Why, courage then! what cannot be avoided ’Twere childish weakness to lament or fear.”

Well did the bold queen merit the outspoken praises of her son,—

“Methinks, a woman of this valiant spirit Should, if a coward heard her speak these words, Infuse his breast with magnanimity, And make him, naked, foil a man at arms.”

And in a like strain, when Agamemnon would show that the difficulties of the ten years’ siege of Troy were (l. 20),—

“But the protractive trials of great Jove To find persistive constancy in men;”

the venerable Nestor, in _Troilus and Cressida_ (act i. sc. 3, l. 33, vol. vi. p. 142), enforces the thought by adding,—

“In the reproof of chance Lies the true proof of men: the sea being smooth, How many shallow bauble boats dare sail Upon her patient breast, making their way With those of nobler bulk! But let the ruffian Boreas once enrage The gentle Thetis, and anon behold The strong-ribb’d bark through liquid mountains cut, Bounding between the two moist elements Like Perseus’ horse. . . . . . . . . Even so Doth valour’s show and valour’s worth divide In storms of fortune: for in her ray and brightness The herd hath more annoyance by the breese Than by the tiger; but when the splitting wind Makes flexible the knees of knotted oaks, And flies fled under shade, why then the thing of courage As roused with rage with rage doth sympathize, And with an accent tuned in selfsame key Retorts to chiding fortune.”

To the same great sentiments Georgette Montenay’s “EMBLEMES CHRESTIENNES” (Rochelle edition, p. 11) supplies a very suitable illustration; it is to the motto, _Quem timebo_?—“Whom shall I fear?”—

“_Du grand peril des vens & de la mer, C’est homme a bien cognoissance très claire, Et ne craind point de se voir abismer Rusque son Dieu l’adresse et luy esclaire._”

The device itself is excellent,—a single mariner on a tempestuous sea, undaunted in his little skiff; and the hand of Providence, issuing from a cloud, holds out to him a beacon light.

“On a student entangled in love,” is the subject of Alciat’s 108th Emblem. The lover appears to have been a jurisconsult, whom Alciat, himself a jurisconsult, represents,—

“Immersed in studies, in oratory and right well skilled, And great especially in all the processes of law, Haliarina he loves; as much as ever loved The Thracian prince his sister’s beauteous maid. Why in Cyprus dost thou overcome Pallas by another judge? Sufficient is it not to conquer at Mount Ida?”

The unfinished thoughts of Alciat are brought out more completely by Whitney, who thus illustrates his subject (p. 135),—

_Jn ſtudioſum captum amore._

“A Reuerend sage, of wisedome most profounde, Beganne to doate, and laye awaye his bookes: For CVPID then, his tender harte did wounde, That onlie nowe, he lik’de his ladies lookes? Oh VENVS staie? since once the price was thine, Thou ought’st not still, at PALLAS thus repine.”

Note, now, how the thoughts of the Emblematists, though greatly excelled in the language which clothes them, are matched by the avowals which the severe and grave Angelo made to himself in _Measure for Measure_ (act ii. sc. 4, l. 1, vol. i. p. 327). He had been disposed to carry out against another the full severity of the law, which he now felt himself inclined to infringe, but confesses,—

“When I would pray and think, I think and pray To several subjects. Heaven hath my empty words: Whilst my invention, hearing not my tongue, Anchors on Isabel: Heaven in my mouth, As if I did but only chew his name; And in my heart the strong and swelling evil Of my conception. The state, whereon I studied, Is like a good thing, being often read, Grown fear’d and tedious; yea, my gravity, Wherein—let no man hear me—I take pride, Could I with boot change for an idle plume, Which the air beats for vain. O place, O form, How often dost thou with thy case, thy habit, Wrench awe from fools, and tie the wiser souls To thy false seeming! Blood, thou art blood: Let’s write good angel on the devil’s horn; ’Tis not the devil’s crest.”

But the entire force of this parallelism in thought is scarcely to be apprehended, unless we mark Angelo’s previous conflict of desire and judgment. Isabel utters the wish, “Heaven keep your honour safe!” And after a hearty “Amen,” the old man confesses to himself (p. 324),—

“For I am that way going to temptation, Where prayers cross.”