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

by William Shakespeare

  Keep it, I can't eat it.

  ALCIBIADES

  When I have laid proud Athens on a heap,--

  When I have beaten proud Athens to the ground–

  TIMON

  Warr'st thou 'gainst Athens?

  Are you going to war against Athens?

  ALCIBIADES

  Ay, Timon, and have cause.

  Yes, Timon, and I have good reason.

  TIMON

  The gods confound them all in thy conquest;

  And thee after, when thou hast conquer'd!

  May the gods defeat them all in your conquest;

  and you after that, when you have won!

  ALCIBIADES

  Why me, Timon?

  Why me, Timon?

  TIMON

  That, by killing of villains,

  Thou wast born to conquer my country.

  Put up thy gold: go on,--here's gold,--go on;

  Be as a planetary plague, when Jove

  Will o'er some high-viced city hang his poison

  In the sick air: let not thy sword skip one:

  Pity not honour'd age for his white beard;

  He is an usurer: strike me the counterfeit matron;

  It is her habit only that is honest,

  Herself's a bawd: let not the virgin's cheek

  Make soft thy trenchant sword; for those milk-paps,

  That through the window-bars bore at men's eyes,

  Are not within the leaf of pity writ,

  But set them down horrible traitors: spare not the babe,

  Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their mercy;

  Think it a bastard, whom the oracle

  Hath doubtfully pronounced thy throat shall cut,

  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.

  This is just an affectation on your part;

  a poor unmanly depression coming from

  your change of fortunes. Why this spade? This place?

  These slave's clothes? And these careworn looks?

  Your flatterers are still wearing silk, drinking wine, sleeping in soft beds;

  they are cuddling their diseased mistresses, and have forgotten

  that Timon ever existed. Don't embarrass these woods

  by taking up the profession of a cynic.

  Become a flatterer yourself, and try to succeed

  through the thing which caused your downfall: bend the knee,

  bow down so low that the person you're flattering can

  blow off your cap with his breath; praise his most revolting quality,

  and call it excellent: this is what others did to you;

  you were like a barman who is prepared to listen

  to any knave who comes in: it would be very apt

  for you to become a rascal; if you had wealth again,

  rascals would have it. Don't copy me.

  TIMON

  Were I like thee, I'ld throw away myself.

  If I was like you, I'd kill myself.

  APEMANTUS

  Thou hast cast away thyself, being like thyself;

  A madman so long, now a fool. What, think'st

  That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain,

  Will put thy shirt on warm? will these moss'd trees,

  That have outlived the eagle, page thy heels,

  And skip where thou point'st out? will the

  cold brook,

  Candied with ice, caudle thy morning taste,

  To cure thy o'er-night's surfeit? Call the creatures

  Whose naked natures live in an the spite

  Of wreakful heaven, whose bare unhoused trunks,

  To the conflicting elements exposed,

  Answer mere nature; bid them flatter thee;

  O, thou shalt find--

  You've already killed yourself, by being who you are;

  you were a madman so long, now you're a fool. What,

  do you think that the cold air, your hearty servant,

  will give you a nice warm shirt? Will these moss covered trees,

  that have lived longer than the eagles, follow you around

  and do whatever you tell them? Will the cold stream,

  c
overed with ice, bring you a warm drink in the morning

  to soothe the results of your indulgence? Call the creatures

  who live out here exposed to all the spite

  of vengeful heaven, whose bare roofless bodies

  are exposed to all the elements, enduring nature

  in its undiluted form; tell them to flatter you.

  Oh, you shall find–

  TIMON

  A fool of thee: depart.

  You're a fool: go.

  APEMANTUS

  I love thee better now than e'er I did.

  I like you better now than I ever did.

  TIMON

  I hate thee worse.

  I hate you more.

  APEMANTUS

  Why?

  Why?

  TIMON

  Thou flatter'st misery.

  You flatter misery.

  APEMANTUS

  I flatter not; but say thou art a caitiff.

  I don't flatter; but I say you are a wretch.

  TIMON

  Why dost thou seek me out?

  Why did you look for me?

  APEMANTUS

  To vex thee.

  To annoy you.

  TIMON

  Always a villain's office or a fool's.

  Dost please thyself in't?

  The job of a villain or a fool.

  Do you enjoy it?

  APEMANTUS

  Ay.

  Yes.

  TIMON

  What! a knave too?

  What! You're a knave as well?

  APEMANTUS

  If thou didst put this sour-cold habit on

  To castigate thy pride, 'twere well: but thou

  Dost it enforcedly; thou'ldst courtier be again,

  Wert thou not beggar. Willing misery

  Outlives encertain pomp, is crown'd before: