Page 3164 - Shakespeare - Vol. 3

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 [120]
Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their mercy:

Think it a bastard, whom the oracle
Hath doubtfully pronounc’d the throat shall cut,
And mince it sans remorse. Swear against objects.
Put armour on thine ears and on thine eyes [125]

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 thy soldiers.
Make large confusion; and, thy fury spent,

Confounded be thyself! Speak not, be gone. [130]

ALCIBIADES
Hast thou gold yet? I’ll take the gold thou givest me,
Not all thy counsel.

TIMON
Dost thou, or dost thou not, heaven’s curse upon thee!

PHRYNIA, TIMANDRA
Give us some gold, good Timon: hast thou more?

TIMON
Enough to make a whore forswear her trade, [135]

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

Th’immortal gods that hear you. Spare your oaths: [140]
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, [145]
Be quite contrary. And thatch
Your poor thin roofs with burthens of the dead −