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Enter ACHILLES and Myrmidons. Achil. Look, Hector, how the sun begins to set; How ugly night comes breathing at his heels: Even with the vail and dark'ning of the sun, To close the day up, Hector's life is done.
Hect. I am unarm'd; forego this vantage, Greek.
Achil. Strike, fellows, strike; this is the man I seek. [HECTOR falls. So, Ilion, fall thou next; now, Troy, sink down; Here lies thy heart, thy sinews, and thy bone.
Tro. Hector is slain.
In beastly sort, dragg'd through the shameful field.— Frown on, you heavens, effect your rage with speed!
Sit, gods, upon your thrones, and smile at Troy ! I say, at once let your brief plagues be mercy, And linger not our sure destructions on!
Ene. My lord, you do discomfort all the host. Tro. You understand me not, that tell me so : I do not speak of flight, of fear, of death; But dare all imminence, that gods and men,
Address their dangers in. Hector is gone!
Who shall tell Priam so, or Hecuba?
Stay yet; You vile abominable tents,
No space of earth shall sunder our two hates;
As many as be here of pander's hall, Your eyes, half out, weep out at Pandar's fall: Or, if you cannot weep, yet give some groans, Though not for me, yet for your aching bones. Brethren, and sisters, of the hold-door trade, Some two months hence my will shall here be made : It should be now, but that my fear is this, Some galled goose of Winchester would hiss: Till then I'll sweat, and seek about for eases ; And, at that time, bequeath you my diseases.
Even on their knees and hands, let him slip down,
A thousand moral paintings I can show,
Trumpets sound. Enter TIMON, attended; the Ser
His means most short, his creditors most strait :
Poet. You see this confluence, this great flood of To those have shut him up; which failing to him, visitors.
I have, in this rough work, shap'd out a man,
Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug
Pain. How shall I understand you
Periods his comfort.
I am not of that feather, to shake off
A gentleman, that well deserves a help,
Which he shall have: I'll pay the debt, and free him.
Tim. Commend me to him: I will send his ran-
I'll unbolt to you. And, being enfranchis'd, bid him come to me : 'Tis not enough to help the feeble up,
You see how all conditions, how all minds,
Feign'd Fortune to be thron'd: The base o' the
Nay, sir, but hear me on:
Ay, marry, what of these?
Spurns down her late belov'd, all his deperdants,
But to support him after. - Fare you well.
Old Ath. Lord Timon, hear me speak.
Old Ath. Most noble Timon, call the man before
Tim. Attends he here, or no? - Lucilius!
Luc. Here, at your lordship's service.
Old Ath. This fellow here, lord Timon, this thy
By night frequents my house. I am a man
Well; what further?
Does she love him?
Old Ath. She is young, and apt :
Tim. [To LUCILIUS.] Love you the maid'
Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world,
And dispossess her all.
How shail she be endow'd, If she be mated with an equal husband?
Old Ath. Three talents, on the present; in future, all.
Tim. This gentleman of mine hath serv'd me long; To build his fortune I will strain a little, For 'tis a bond in men. Give him thy daughter: What you bestow, in him I'll counterpoise, And make him weigh with her.
Old Ath. Most noble lord, Pawn me to this your honour, she is his. Tim. My hand to thee; mine honour on my promise.
Luc. Humbly I thank your lordship: Never may That state or fortune fall into my keeping, Which is not ow'd to you!
[Exeunt LUCILIUS and old Athenian. Poet. Vouchsafe my labour, and long live your lordship!
Tim. Whither art going?
Apem. Right, if doing nothing be death by the law.
Tim. Wrought he not well, that painted it? Apem. He wrought better, that made the painter; and yet he's but a filthy piece of work.
Pain. You are a dog.
Apem. Thy mother's of my generation; What's she, if I be a dog?
Tim. Wilt dine with me, Apemantus?
Apem. No; I eat not lords.
Tim. An thou should'st, thou'dst anger ladies. Apem. O, they eat lords; so they come by great bellies.
Tim. That's a lascivious apprehension.
Apem. So thou apprehend'st it: Take it for thy labour.
Tim. How dost thou like this jewel, Apemantus? Apem. Not so well as plain-dealing, which will not cost a man a doit.
Tim. What dost thou tnink 'tis worth?
Apem. Not worth my thinking. — How now, poet?
Poet. How now, philosopher?
Apem. Thou liest.
Poet. Art not one?
Poet. Then I lie not.
Apem. Then thou liest look in thy last work, where thou hast feign'd him a worthy fellow. Poet. That's not feign'd, he is so.
Apem. Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay thee for thy labour: He, that loves to be flattered, is worthy o'the flatterer. Heavens, that I were a lord!
Tim. What would'st do then, Apemantus? Apem. Even as Apemantus does now, hate a lord with my heart.
Tim. What, thyself?
Most welcome, sir!
Tim. Thou art proud, Apantus. Apem. Of nothing so much, as that I am not like Timon.
Enter ALCIBIADES, with his company.
Арет. So, so; there! Aches contract and starve your supple joints!