Page 3165 - Shakespeare - Vol. 3

Some that were hang’d, no matter;
Wear them, betray with them. Whore still;
Paint till a horse may mire upon your face: [150]
A pox of wrinkles!

PHRYNIA, TIMANDRA
Well, more gold. What then?

Believe ’t that we’ll 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, [155]

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 [160]
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 [165]
The source of all erection. There’s more gold.
Do you damn others, and let this damn you,

And ditches grave you all!

PHRYNIA, TIMANDRA
More counsel with more money, bounteous Timon.

TIMON
More whore, more mischief first; I have given you earnest. [170]

ALCIBIADES
Strike up the drum towards Athens! Farewell, Timon:
If I thrive well, I’ll visit thee again.