Chapter 143

Cap. O heauen! O wife looke how our Daughter bleedes! This Dagger hath mistaine, for loe his house Is empty on the backe of Mountague, And is misheathed in my Daughters bosome

Wife. O me, this sight of death, is as a Bell That warnes my old age to a Sepulcher. Enter Mountague.

Pri. Come Mountague, for thou art early vp To see thy Sonne and Heire, now early downe

Moun. Alas my liege, my wife is dead to night, Griefe of my Sonnes exile hath stopt her breath: What further woe conspires against my age? Prin. Looke: and thou shalt see

Moun. O thou vntaught, what manners is in this, To presse before thy Father to a graue? Prin. Seale vp the mouth of outrage for a while, Till we can cleare these ambiguities, And know their spring, their head, their true descent, And then I will be generall of your woes, And lead you euen to death? meane time forbeare, And let mischance be slaue to patience, Bring forth the parties of suspition

Fri. I am the greatest, able to doe least, Yet most suspected as the time and place Doth make against me of this direfull murther: And heere I stand both to impeach and purge My selfe condemned, and my selfe excus'd

Prin. Then say at once, what thou dost know in this? Fri. I will be briefe, for my short date of breath Is not so long as is a tedious tale. Romeo there dead, was husband to that Iuliet, And she there dead, that's Romeos faithfull wife: I married them; and their stolne marriage day Was Tybalts Doomesday: whose vntimely death Banish'd the new-made Bridegroome from this Citie: For whom (and not for Tybalt) Iuliet pinde. You, to remoue that siege of Greefe from her, Betroth'd, and would haue married her perforce To Countie Paris. Then comes she to me, And (with wilde lookes) bid me deuise some meanes To rid her from this second Marriage, Or in my Cell there would she kill her selfe. Then gaue I her (so Tutor'd by my Art) A sleeping Potion, which so tooke effect As I intended, for it wrought on her The forme of death. Meane time, I writ to Romeo, That he should hither come, as this dyre night, To helpe to take her from her borrowed graue, Being the time the Potions force should cease. But he which bore my Letter, Frier Iohn, Was stay'd by accident; and yesternight Return'd my Letter backe. Then all alone, At the prefixed houre of her waking, Came I to take her from her Kindreds vault, Meaning to keepe her closely at my Cell, Till I conueniently could send to Romeo. But when I came (some Minute ere the time Of her awaking) heere vntimely lay The Noble Paris, and true Romeo dead. Shee wakes, and I intreated her come foorth, And beare this worke of Heauen, with patience: But then, a noyse did scarre me from the Tombe, And she (too desperate) would not go with me, But (as it seemes) did violence on her selfe. All this I know, and to the Marriage her Nurse is priuy: And if ought in this miscarried by my fault, Let my old life be sacrific'd, some houre before the time, Vnto the rigour of seuerest Law

Prin. We still haue knowne thee for a Holy man. Where's Romeo's man? What can he say to this? Boy. I brought my Master newes of Iuliets death, And then in poste he came from Mantua To this same place, to this same Monument. This Letter he early bid me giue his Father, And threatned me with death, going in the Vault, If I departed not, and left him there

Prin. Giue me the Letter, I will look on it. Where is the Counties Page that rais'd the Watch? Sirra, what made your Master in this place? Page. He came with flowres to strew his Ladies graue, And bid me stand aloofe, and so I did: Anon comes one with light to ope the Tombe, And by and by my Maister drew on him, And then I ran away to call the Watch

Prin. This Letter doth make good the Friers words, Their course of Loue, the tydings of her death: And heere he writes, that he did buy a poyson Of a poore Pothecarie, and therewithall Came to this Vault to dye, and lye with Iuliet. Where be these Enemies? Capulet, Mountague, See what a scourge is laide vpon your hate, That Heauen finds meanes to kill your ioyes with Loue; And I, for winking at your discords too, Haue lost a brace of Kinsmen: All are punish'd

Cap. O Brother Mountague, giue me thy hand, This is my Daughters ioynture, for no more Can I demand

Moun. But I can giue thee more: For I will raise her Statue in pure Gold, That whiles Verona by that name is knowne, There shall no figure at that Rate be set, As that of True and Faithfull Iuliet

Cap. As rich shall Romeo by his Lady ly, Poore sacrifices of our enmity

Prin. A glooming peace this morning with it brings, The Sunne for sorrow will not shew his head; Go hence, to haue more talke of these sad things, Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished. For neuer was a Storie of more Wo, Then this of Iuliet, and her Romeo.

Exeunt. omnes

FINIS. THE TRAGEDIE OF ROMEO and IVLIET

The Life of Timon of Athens

Enter Poet, Painter, Ieweller, Merchant, and Mercer, at seuerall doores.

Poet. Good day Sir

Pain. I am glad y'are well

Poet. I haue not seene you long, how goes the World? Pain. It weares sir, as it growes

Poet. I that's well knowne: But what particular Rarity? What strange, Which manifold record not matches: see Magicke of Bounty, all these spirits thy power Hath coniur'd to attend. I know the Merchant

Pain. I know them both: th' others a Ieweller

Mer. O 'tis a worthy Lord

Iew. Nay that's most fixt

Mer. A most incomparable man, breath'd as it were, To an vntyreable and continuate goodnesse: He passes

Iew. I haue a Iewell heere

Mer. O pray let's see't. For the Lord Timon, sir? Iewel. If he will touch the estimate. But for that- Poet. When we for recompence haue prais'd the vild, It staines the glory in that happy Verse, Which aptly sings the good

Mer. 'Tis a good forme

Iewel. And rich: heere is a Water looke ye

Pain. You are rapt sir, in some worke, some Dedication to the great Lord

Poet. A thing slipt idlely from me. Our Poesie is as a Gowne, which vses From whence 'tis nourisht: the fire i'th' Flint Shewes not, till it be strooke: our gentle flame Prouokes it selfe, and like the currant flyes Each bound it chases. What haue you there? Pain. A Picture sir: when comes your Booke forth? Poet. Vpon the heeles of my presentment sir. Let's see your peece

Pain. 'Tis a good Peece

Poet. So 'tis, this comes off well, and excellent

Pain. Indifferent

Poet. Admirable: How this grace Speakes his owne standing: what a mentall power This eye shootes forth? How bigge imagination Moues in this Lip, to th' dumbnesse of the gesture, One might interpret

Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life: Heere is a touch: Is't good? Poet. I will say of it, It Tutors Nature, Artificiall strife Liues in these toutches, liuelier then life. Enter certaine Senators.

Pain. How this Lord is followed

Poet. The Senators of Athens, happy men

Pain. Looke moe

Po. You see this confluence, this great flood of visitors, I haue in this rough worke, shap'd out a man Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hugge With amplest entertainment: My free drift Halts not particularly, but moues it selfe In a wide Sea of wax, no leuell'd malice Infects one comma in the course I hold, But flies an Eagle flight, bold, and forth on, Leauing no Tract behinde

Pain. How shall I vnderstand you? Poet. I will vnboult to you. You see how all Conditions, how all Mindes, As well of glib and slipp'ry Creatures, as Of Graue and austere qualitie, tender downe Their seruices to Lord Timon: his large Fortune, Vpon his good and gracious Nature hanging, Subdues and properties to his loue and tendance All sorts of hearts; yea, from the glasse-fac'd Flatterer To Apemantus, that few things loues better Then to abhorre himselfe; euen hee drops downe The knee before him, and returnes in peace Most rich in Timons nod

Pain. I saw them speake together

Poet. Sir, I haue vpon a high and pleasant hill Feign'd Fortune to be thron'd. The Base o'th' Mount Is rank'd with all deserts, all kinde of Natures That labour on the bosome of this Sphere, To propagate their states; among'st them all, Whose eyes are on this Soueraigne Lady fixt, One do I personate of Lord Timons frame, Whom Fortune with her Iuory hand wafts to her, Whose present grace, to present slaues and seruants Translates his Riuals

Pain. 'Tis conceyu'd, to scope This Throne, this Fortune, and this Hill me thinkes With one man becken'd from the rest below, Bowing his head against the sleepy Mount To climbe his happinesse, would be well exprest In our Condition

Poet. Nay Sir, but heare me on: All those which were his Fellowes but of late, Some better then his valew; on the moment Follow his strides, his Lobbies fill with tendance, Raine Sacrificiall whisperings in his eare, Make Sacred euen his styrrop, and through him Drinke the free Ayre

Pain. I marry, what of these? Poet. When Fortune in her shift and change of mood Spurnes downe her late beloued; all his Dependants Which labour'd after him to the Mountaines top, Euen on their knees and hand, let him sit downe, Not one accompanying his declining foot

Pain. Tis common: A thousand morall Paintings I can shew, That shall demonstrate these quicke blowes of Fortunes, More pregnantly then words. Yet you do well, To shew Lord Timon, that meane eyes haue seene The foot aboue the head. Trumpets sound.

Enter Lord Timon, addressing himselfe curteously to euery Sutor.

Tim. Imprison'd is he, say you? Mes. I my good Lord, fiue Talents is his debt, His meanes most short, his Creditors most straite: Your Honourable Letter he desires To those haue shut him vp, which failing, Periods his comfort

Tim. Noble Ventidius, well: I am not of that Feather, to shake off My Friend when he must neede me. I do know him A Gentleman, that well deserues a helpe, Which he shall haue. Ile pay the debt, and free him

Mes. Your Lordship euer bindes him

Tim. Commend me to him, I will send his ransome, And being enfranchized bid him come to me; 'Tis not enough to helpe the Feeble vp, But to support him after. Fare you well

Mes. All happinesse to your Honor. Enter.

Enter an old Athenian.

Oldm. Lord Timon, heare me speake

Tim. Freely good Father

Oldm. Thou hast a Seruant nam'd Lucilius

Tim. I haue so: What of him? Oldm. Most Noble Timon, call the man before thee

Tim. Attends he heere, or no? Lucillius

Luc. Heere at your Lordships seruice

Oldm. This Fellow heere, L[ord]. Timon, this thy Creature, By night frequents my house. I am a man That from my first haue beene inclin'd to thrift, And my estate deserues an Heyre more rais'd, Then one which holds a Trencher

Tim. Well: what further? Old. One onely Daughter haue I, no Kin else, On whom I may conferre what I haue got: The Maid is faire, a'th' youngest for a Bride, And I haue bred her at my deerest cost In Qualities of the best. This man of thine Attempts her loue: I prythee (Noble Lord) Ioyne with me to forbid him her resort, My selfe haue spoke in vaine

Tim. The man is honest

Oldm. Therefore he will be Timon, His honesty rewards him in it selfe, It must not beare my Daughter

Tim. Does she loue him? Oldm. She is yong and apt: Our owne precedent passions do instruct vs What leuities in youth

Tim. Loue you the Maid? Luc. I my good Lord, and she accepts of it

Oldm. If in her Marriage my consent be missing, I call the Gods to witnesse, I will choose Mine heyre from forth the Beggers of the world, And dispossesse her all

Tim. How shall she be endowed, If she be mated with an equall Husband? Oldm. Three Talents on the present; in future, all

Tim. This Gentleman of mine Hath seru'd me long: To build his Fortune, I will straine a little, For 'tis a Bond in men. Giue him thy Daughter, What you bestow, in him Ile counterpoize, And make him weigh with her

Oldm. Most Noble Lord, Pawne me to this your Honour, she is his

Tim. My hand to thee, Mine Honour on my promise

Luc. Humbly I thanke your Lordship, neuer may That state or Fortune fall into my keeping, Which is not owed to you.

Exit

Poet. Vouchsafe my Labour, And long liue your Lordship

Tim. I thanke you, you shall heare from me anon: Go not away. What haue you there, my Friend? Pain. A peece of Painting, which I do beseech Your Lordship to accept

Tim. Painting is welcome. The Painting is almost the Naturall man: For since Dishonor Traffickes with mans Nature, He is but out-side: These Pensil'd Figures are Euen such as they giue out. I like your worke, And you shall finde I like it; Waite attendance Till you heare further from me

Pain. The Gods preserue ye

Tim. Well fare you Gentleman: giue me your hand. We must needs dine together: sir your Iewell Hath suffered vnder praise

Iewel. What my Lord, dispraise? Tim. A meere saciety of Commendations, If I should pay you for't as 'tis extold, It would vnclew me quite

Iewel. My Lord, 'tis rated As those which sell would giue: but you well know, Things of like valew differing in the Owners, Are prized by their Masters. Beleeu't deere Lord, You mend the Iewell by the wearing it

Tim. Well mock'd. Enter Apermantus.

Mer. No my good Lord, he speakes y common toong Which all men speake with him

Tim. Looke who comes heere, will you be chid? Iewel. Wee'l beare with your Lordship

Mer. Hee'l spare none

Tim. Good morrow to thee, Gentle Apermantus

Ape. Till I be gentle, stay thou for thy good morrow. When thou art Timons dogge, and these Knaues honest

Tim. Why dost thou call them Knaues, thou know'st them not? Ape. Are they not Athenians? Tim. Yes

Ape. Then I repent not

Iew. You know me, Apemantus? Ape. Thou know'st I do, I call'd thee by thy name

Tim. Thou art proud Apemantus? Ape. Of nothing so much, as that I am not like Timon Tim. Whether art going? Ape. To knocke out an honest Athenians braines

Tim. That's a deed thou't dye for

Ape. Right, if doing nothing be death by th' Law

Tim. How lik'st thou this picture Apemantus? Ape. The best, for the innocence

Tim. Wrought he not well that painted it

Ape. He wrought better that made the Painter, and yet he's but a filthy peece of worke

Pain. Y'are a Dogge

Ape. Thy Mothers of my generation: what's she, if I be a Dogge? Tim. Wilt dine with me Apemantus? Ape. No: I eate not Lords

Tim. And thou should'st, thoud'st anger Ladies

Ape. O they eate Lords; So they come by great bellies

Tim. That's a lasciuious apprehension

Ape. So, thou apprehend'st it, Take it for thy labour

Tim. How dost thou like this Iewell, Apemantus? Ape. Not so well as plain-dealing, which wil not cast a man a Doit

Tim. What dost thou thinke 'tis worth? Ape. Not worth my thinking. How now Poet? Poet. How now Philosopher? Ape. Thou lyest

Poet. Art not one? Ape. Yes

Poet. Then I lye not

Ape. Art not a Poet? Poet. Yes

Ape. Then thou lyest: Looke in thy last worke, where thou hast feign'd him a worthy Fellow

Poet. That's not feign'd, he is so

Ape. Yes he is worthy of thee, and to pay thee for thy labour. He that loues to be flattered, is worthy o'th flatterer. Heauens, that I were a Lord

Tim. What wouldst do then Apemantus? Ape. E'ne as Apemantus does now, hate a Lord with my heart

Tim. What thy selfe? Ape. I

Tim. Wherefore? Ape. That I had no angry wit to be a Lord. Art not thou a Merchant? Mer. I Apemantus

Ape. Traffick confound thee, if the Gods will not

Mer. If Trafficke do it, the Gods do it

Ape. Traffickes thy God, & thy God confound thee.

Trumpet sounds. Enter a Messenger.

Tim. What Trumpets that? Mes. 'Tis Alcibiades, and some twenty Horse All of Companionship

Tim. Pray entertaine them, giue them guide to vs. You must needs dine with me: go not you hence Till I haue thankt you: when dinners done Shew me this peece, I am ioyfull of your sights. Enter Alcibiades with the rest.

Most welcome Sir

Ape. So, so; their Aches contract, and sterue your supple ioynts: that there should bee small loue amongest these sweet Knaues, and all this Curtesie. The straine of mans bred out into Baboon and Monkey

Alc. Sir, you haue sau'd my longing, and I feed Most hungerly on your sight

Tim. Right welcome Sir: Ere we depart, wee'l share a bounteous time In different pleasures. Pray you let vs in.

Exeunt.

Enter two Lords.

1.Lord What time a day is't Apemantus? Ape. Time to be honest

1 That time serues still

Ape. The most accursed thou that still omitst it

2 Thou art going to Lord Timons Feast

Ape. I, to see meate fill Knaues, and Wine heat fooles

2 Farthee well, farthee well

Ape. Thou art a Foole to bid me farewell twice

2 Why Apemantus? Ape. Should'st haue kept one to thy selfe, for I meane to giue thee none

1 Hang thy selfe

Ape. No I will do nothing at thy bidding: Make thy requests to thy Friend

2 Away vnpeaceable Dogge, Or Ile spurne thee hence

Ape. I will flye like a dogge, the heeles a'th' Asse

1 Hee's opposite to humanity. Come shall we in, And taste Lord Timons bountie: he out-goes The verie heart of kindnesse

2 He powres it out: Plutus the God of Gold Is but his Steward: no meede but he repayes Seuen-fold aboue it selfe: No guift to him, But breeds the giuer a returne: exceeding All vse of quittance

1 The Noblest minde he carries, That euer gouern'd man

2 Long may he liue in Fortunes. Shall we in? Ile keepe you Company.

Exeunt.

Hoboyes Playing lowd Musicke. A great Banquet seru'd in: and then, Enter Lord Timon, the States, the Athenian Lords, Ventigius which Timon redeem'd from prison. Then comes dropping after all Apemantus discontentedly like himselfe.

Ventig. Most honoured Timon, It hath pleas'd the Gods to remember my Fathers age, And call him to long peace: He is gone happy, and has left me rich: Then, as in gratefull Vertue I am bound To your free heart, I do returne those Talents Doubled with thankes and seruice, from whose helpe I deriu'd libertie

Tim. O by no meanes, Honest Ventigius: You mistake my loue, I gaue it freely euer, and ther's none Can truely say he giues, if he receiues: If our betters play at that game, we must not dare To imitate them: faults that are rich are faire

Vint. A Noble spirit

Tim. Nay my Lords, Ceremony was but deuis'd at first To set a glosse on faint deeds, hollow welcomes, Recanting goodnesse, sorry ere 'tis showne: But where there is true friendship, there needs none. Pray sit, more welcome are ye to my Fortunes, Then my Fortunes to me

1.Lord. My Lord, we alwaies haue confest it

Aper. Ho ho, confest it? Handg'd it? Haue you not? Timo. O Apermantus, you are welcome

Aper. No: You shall not make me welcome: I come to haue thee thrust me out of doores

Tim. Fie, th'art a churle, ye'haue got a humour there Does not become a man, 'tis much too blame: They say my Lords, Ira furor breuis est, But yond man is verie angrie. Go, let him haue a Table by himselfe: For he does neither affect companie, Nor is he fit for't indeed

Aper. Let me stay at thine apperill Timon, I come to obserue, I giue thee warning on't

Tim. I take no heede of thee: Th'art an Athenian, therefore welcome: I my selfe would haue no power, prythee let my meate make thee silent

Aper. I scorne thy meate, 'twould choake me: for I should nere flatter thee. Oh you Gods! What a number of men eats Timon, and he sees 'em not? It greeues me to see so many dip there meate in one mans blood, and all the madnesse is, he cheeres them vp too. I wonder men dare trust themselues with men. Me thinks they should enuite them without kniues, Good for there meate, and safer for their liues. There's much example for't, the fellow that sits next him, now parts bread with him, pledges the breath of him in a diuided draught: is the readiest man to kill him. 'Tas beene proued, if I were a huge man I should feare to drinke at meales, least they should spie my wind-pipes dangerous noates, great men should drinke with harnesse on their throates

Tim. My Lord in heart: and let the health go round

2.Lord. Let it flow this way my good Lord

Aper. Flow this way? A braue fellow. He keepes his tides well, those healths will make thee and thy state looke ill, Timon. Heere's that which is too weake to be a sinner, Honest water, which nere left man i'th' mire: This and my food are equals, there's no ods, Feasts are to proud to giue thanks to the Gods.

Apermantus Grace.

Immortall Gods, I craue no pelfe, I pray for no man but my selfe, Graunt I may neuer proue so fond, To trust man on his Oath or Bond. Or a Harlot for her weeping, Or a Dogge that seemes asleeping, Or a keeper with my freedome, Or my friends if I should need 'em. Amen. So fall too't: Richmen sin, and I eat root. Much good dich thy good heart, Apermantus Tim. Captaine, Alcibiades, your hearts in the field now

Alci. My heart is euer at your seruice, my Lord

Tim. You had rather be at a breakefast of Enemies, then a dinner of Friends

Alc. So they were bleeding new my Lord, there's no meat like 'em, I could wish my best friend at such a Feast

Aper. Would all those Flatterers were thine Enemies then, that then thou might'st kill 'em: & bid me to 'em

1.Lord. Might we but haue that happinesse my Lord, that you would once vse our hearts, whereby we might expresse some part of our zeales, we should thinke our selues for euer perfect

Timon. Oh no doubt my good Friends, but the Gods themselues haue prouided that I shall haue much helpe from you: how had you beene my Friends else. Why haue you that charitable title from thousands? Did not you chiefely belong to my heart? I haue told more of you to my selfe, then you can with modestie speake in your owne behalfe. And thus farre I confirme you. Oh you Gods (thinke I,) what need we haue any Friends; if we should nere haue need of 'em? They were the most needlesse Creatures liuing; should we nere haue vse for 'em? And would most resemble sweete Instruments hung vp in Cases, that keepes there sounds to themselues. Why I haue often wisht my selfe poorer, that I might come neerer to you: we are borne to do benefits. And what better or properer can we call our owne, then the riches of our Friends? Oh what a pretious comfort 'tis, to haue so many like Brothers commanding one anothers Fortunes. Oh ioyes, e'ne made away er't can be borne: mine eies cannot hold out water me thinks to forget their Faults. I drinke to you

Aper. Thou weep'st to make them drinke, Timon

2.Lord. Ioy had the like conception in our eies, And at that instant, like a babe sprung vp

Aper. Ho, ho: I laugh to thinke that babe a bastard

3.Lord. I promise you my Lord you mou'd me much

Aper. Much.

Sound Tucket. Enter the Maskers of Amazons, with Lutes in their hands, dauncing and playing.

Tim. What meanes that Trumpe? How now? Enter Seruant.

Ser. Please you my Lord, there are certaine Ladies Most desirous of admittance

Tim. Ladies? what are their wils? Ser. There comes with them a fore-runner my Lord, which beares that office, to signifie their pleasures

Tim. I pray let them be admitted. Enter Cupid with the Maske of Ladies.

Cup. Haile to thee worthy Timon and to all that of his Bounties taste: the fiue best Sences acknowledge thee their Patron, and come freely to gratulate thy plentious bosome. There tast, touch all, pleas'd from thy Table rise: They onely now come but to Feast thine eies

Timo. They'r welcome all, let 'em haue kind admittance. Musicke make their welcome

Luc. You see my Lord, how ample y'are belou'd

Aper. Hoyday, What a sweepe of vanitie comes this way. They daunce? They are madwomen, Like Madnesse is the glory of this life, As this pompe shewes to a little oyle and roote. We make our selues Fooles, to disport our selues, And spend our Flatteries, to drinke those men, Vpon whose Age we voyde it vp agen With poysonous Spight and Enuy. Who liues, that's not depraued, or depraues; Who dyes, that beares not one spurne to their graues Of their Friends guift: I should feare, those that dance before me now, Would one day stampe vpon me: 'Tas bene done, Men shut their doores against a setting Sunne.