The Life of Timon of Athens. Уильям Шекспир

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      O! I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, in that.

      You may take my word, my lord: I know no man

      Can justly praise but what he does affect:

      I weigh my friend's affection with mine own.

      I'll tell you true; I'll call to you.

      O! none so welcome!

      I take all and your several visitations

      So kind to heart, 'tis not enough to give;

      Methinks, I could deal kingdoms to my friends,

      And ne'er be weary. Alcibiades,

      Thou art a soldier, therefore seldom rich;

      It comes in charity to thee; for all thy living

      Is 'mongst the dead, and all the lands thou hast

      Lie in a pitch'd field.

      Ay, defil'd land, my lord.

      We are so virtuously bound, —

      And so am I to you.

      So infinitely endear'd, —

      All to you. Lights, more lights!

      The best of happiness,

      Honour, and fortunes, keep with you, Lord Timon!

      Ready for his friends.

      What a coil's here!

      Serving of becks and jutting out of bums!

      I doubt whether their legs be worth the sums

      That are given for 'em. Friendship's full of dregs:

      Methinks, false hearts should never have sound legs.

      Thus honest fools lay out their wealth on curtsies.

      Now, Apemantus, if thou wert not sullen,

      I would be good to thee.

      APEMANTUS. No, I'll nothing; for if I should be bribed too, there would be none left to rail upon thee, and then thou wouldst sin the faster. Thou givest so long, Timon, I fear me thou wilt give away thyself in paper shortly: What needs these feasts, pomps, and vain-glories?

      TIMON. Nay, an you begin to rail on society once, I am sworn not to give regard to you. Farewell; and come with better music.

      So: Thou wilt not hear me now; thou shalt not then;

      I'll lock thy heaven from thee.

      O! that men's ears should be

      To counsel deaf, but not to flattery!

      And late, five thousand: to Varro and to Isidore

      He owes nine thousand; besides my former sum,

      Which makes it five-and-twenty. Still in motion

      Of raging waste! It cannot hold; it will not.

      If I want gold, steal but a beggar's dog

      And give it Timon, why, the dog coins gold;

      If I would sell my horse, and buy twenty more

      Better than he, why, give my horse to Timon,

      Ask nothing, give it him, it foals me straight,

      And able horses. No porter at his gate,

      But rather one that smiles and still invites

      All that pass by. It cannot hold; no reason

      Can found his state in safety. Caphis, ho!

      Caphis, I say!

      Here, sir; what is your pleasure?

      Get on your cloak, and haste you to Lord Timon;

      Importune him for my moneys; be not ceas'd

      With slight denial, nor then silenc'd when —

      'Commend me to your master' – and the cap

      Plays in the right hand, thus; – but tell him,

      My uses cry to me; I must serve my turn

      Out of mine own; his days and times are past,

      And my reliances on his fracted dates

      Have smit my credit: I love and honour him,

      But must not break my back to heal his finger;

      Immediate are my needs, and my relief

      Must not be toss'd and turn'd to me in words,

      But find supply immediate. Get you gone:

      Put on a most importunate aspect,

      A visage of demand; for I do fear,

      When every feather sticks in his own wing,

      Lord Timon will be left a naked gull,

      Which flashes now a phoenix. Get you gone.

      I go, sir.

      Take the bonds along with you,

      And have the dates in compt.

      I will, sir.

      Go.

      No care, no stop! So senseless of expense,

      That he will neither know how to maintain it,

      Nor cease his flow of riot: takes no account

      How things go from him, nor resumes no care

      Of what is to continue: never mind

      Was to be so unwise, to be so kind.

      What shall be done? He will not hear, till feel:

      I must be round with him. Now he comes from hunting.

      Fie, fie, fie, fie!

      Good even, Varro. What! You come for money?

      Is't not your business too?

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