The Life of Timon of Athens - Уильям Шекспир 3 стр.

You see, my lord, how ample you're belov'd.

Hoy-day! what a sweep of vanity comes this way:
They dance! they are mad women.
Like madness is the glory of this life,
As this pomp shows to a little oil and root.
We make ourselves fools to disport ourselves;
And spend our flatteries to drink those men
Upon whose age we void it up again,
With poisonous spite and envy.
Who lives that's not depraved or depraves?
Who dies that bears not one spurn to their graves
Of their friend's gift?
I should fear those that dance before me now
Would one day stamp upon me: it has been done:
Men shut their doors against a setting sun.

You have done our pleasures much grace, fair ladies,
Set a fair fashion on our entertainment,
Which was not half so beautiful and kind;
You have added worth unto 't and lustre,
And entertain'd me with mine own device;
I am to thank you for 't.

My lord, you take us even at the best.
APEMANTUS. Faith, for the worst is filthy; and would not hold taking, I doubt me.

Ladies, there is an idle banquet
Attends you; please you to dispose yourselves.

Most thankfully, my lord.

Flavius!

My lord!

The little casket bring me hither.

Yes, my lord. [Aside.] More jewels yet!
There is no crossing him in 's humour;
Else I should tell him well, i' faith, I should,
When all's spent, he'd be cross'd then, an he could.
'Tis pity bounty had not eyes behind,
That man might ne'er be wretched for his mind.

Where be our men?

Here, my lord, in readiness.

Our horses!

O, my friends! I have one word to say to you;
Look you, my good lord,
I must entreat you, honour me so much
As to advance this jewel; accept it and wear it,
Kind my lord.

I am so far already in your gifts

So are we all.

My lord, there are certain nobles of the Senate
Newly alighted and come to visit you.

They are fairly welcome.

I beseech your honour,
Vouchsafe me a word; it does concern you near.

Near! why then, another time I'll hear thee.
I prithee let's be provided to show them entertainment.

I scarce know how.

May it please vour honour, Lord Lucius,
Out of his free love, hath presented to you
Four milk-white horses, trapp'd in silver.

I shall accept them fairly; let the presents
Be worthily entertain'd.

How now! What news?

THIRD SERVANT. Please you, my lord, that honourable gentleman, Lord Lucullus, entreats your company to-morrow to hunt with him, and has sent your honour two brace of greyhounds.

I'll hunt with him; and let them be receiv'd,
Not without fair reward.

He commands us to provide, and give great gifts,
And all out of an empty coffer;
Nor will he know his purse, or yield me this,
To show him what a beggar his heart is,
Being of no power to make his wishes good.
His promises fly so beyond his state
That what he speaks is all in debt; he owes
For every word: he is so kind that he now
Pays interest for 't; his land's put to their books.
Well, would I were gently put out of office
Before I were forc'd out!
Happier he that has no friend to feed
Than such that do e'en enemies exceed.
I bleed inwardly for my lord.

You do yourselves much wrong;
You bate too much of your own merits;
Here, my lord, a trifle of our love.

With more than common thanks I will receive it.

O! he's the very soul of bounty!

And now I remember, my lord, you gave
Good words the other day of a bay courser
I rode on: it is yours because you lik'd it.

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.

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?

It is: and yours too, Isidore?

It is so.

Would we were all discharg'd!

I fear it.

Here comes the lord!

So soon as dinner's done, we'll forth again.
My Alcibiades. With me? what is your will?

My lord, here is a note of certain dues.

Dues! Whence are you?

Of Athens here, my lord.

Go to my steward.

Please it your lordship, he hath put me off
To the succession of new days this month:
My master is awak'd by great occasion
To call upon his own; and humbly prays you
That with your other noble parts you'll suit
In giving him his right.

Mine honest friend,
I prithee, but repair to me next morning.

Nay, good my lord,

Contain thyself, good friend.

One Varro's servant, my good lord,

From Isidore; he humbly prays your speedy payment.

If you did know, my lord, my master's wants,

'Twas due on forfeiture, my lord, six weeks and past.

Your steward puts me off, my lord; and
I am sent expressly to your lordship.