Timon, a play, now first pr. Ed. by A. Dyce

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Page 3 - Flye, gould, enioye the sunn beames ! 'tis not fitt Bright gould should lye hidd in obscuritie ; I'le rather scatter it among the people : Lett poore men somewhat take of my greate plenty ; I would not haue them greiue that they went empty From Timons threshould, and I will not see . My pensive freinds to pyne with penurie. Lach. Who beares a princelie mynd needes princelie wealth, Or ells hee'le wither like a rose in springe, Nought wilbe left but thornes of povertie. Master, thou art noe kinge,...
Page 66 - Whatsoeuer is moued to the motion of the moone, is in the moone superficially; but the man in the moone is moued to the motion of the moone; ergo the man in the moone really exists in the moone superficially.
Page 71 - To liue but poorely, let him bee content. Tim. What man is hee can wayle the losse of wealthe, Guarded with such a friendly company ? Ill thriue my gold, it shall not wring one teare From these mine eies, nor one sigh from my hearte : My friends sticke close to mee, they will not starte. Dem. Is hee madde ? wee knew him not this morning : Hath hee soe soone forgotte an iniury ? Now enter HERM., STIL., SPEUS., and drawe backs.
Page 18 - Thou speakst Sybilla's leafes. Yf I one doit, Except one halfepeny, beare to my graue, Lett Charon thrust me, as a greedy knaue, Out of his boate forthwith into the lake ! Heare, Tymon : know'st thou what Hermogenes Vndyned would haue ? how well he sings and fidles ? HERMOGINES sings.
Page 76 - Tim. Yee are a stony generation, Or harder, if ought harder may bee founde ; Monsters of Scythia inhospitall, Nay, very diuells, hatefull to the gods. Lach. Master, they are gone. Tim. The pox goe with them ; And whatsoe're the horridde sounding sea Or earthe produces, whatsoe're accurs'd Lurks in the house of silent Erebus, Let it, O, let it all sprawle forth here ! here, Cocytus, flowe, and yee blacke foords of Styx ! Here barke thou, Cerberus ! and here, yee troopes Of cursed Furies, shake your...
Page 60 - This face, these hands thou heretofore didst knowe : Am I soe soone forgotte and wholy chang'd ? And is there nothing now of Timon lefte ? Dem. Thou brazen face, I ne're sawe thee before. Eutr. This fellowe would insinuate, I thinke. Tim. Where hide yee your heads, yee heau'nly powers ? They doe despise their needy friend, yet liue And breathe a guilty soule : O supreme Joue, Why doth thy right hande cease to punish sinne ? Strike one of these with thunder from aboue, And with thy lightening reuenge...
Page 68 - Vertue alone beatifies the minde. Stil. Shee is not blinde. Speus. Shee cannot bee deceau'd. Stil. Shee doth despise noe man. Speus. Shee none forsakes. Stil. Shee is not angry. Speus. Doth not change. Stil. Nor rage. Speus. With comfort shee relieues the grieued soule. Stil. Shees fairer euery day than other. Speus. The nearer, shee the fairer doth appeare. Tim. This grieues mee worse than all my pouerty. — Hence, hence, yee varletts ! Stil. The chiefest good in vertue doth consiste. Speus. Whose...
Page 44 - Gelasimus. Lol. Why binde yee not olde Hecuba, that bitche ? Blat. I olde Hecuba ! I'me Blatte, the nurse : What ayles the drunken foole ? Eutr. Timon, why are your eies fixt on the grounde ? Tim. I feele a wounde. Eutr. O, Jupiter forbidde ! Tim. Eutrapelus, this is not in Joues pow're. I subiecte am to Venus tyranny : These eies betraide my hearte ; these were the gate And onely way where loue first entred in ; I saw and lou'd, and must my loue enioye. Eutr. What sodaine metamorphosis is this ?...
Page 32 - I am perswaded; I will let him goe. Dem. O eloquence, what canst not thou effecte ? Whom doe not sweeter wordes than hony moue ? I thanke my genius. Serg. 2. Exult not soe: I am perswaded, Demeas, I am, Thee to imprisonne. Come, my orator, Not arator, my floridde, not horridde ; Bee sure of this, weele putte thee in sure ties, Vnles thou putte in sureties. Tim. Dismisse him: I will sixteene talents pay Vnto the citizens. Dem. My Jupiter, my Jupiter ! Tim.
Page 59 - I haue scene his face, But where I cannot tell. Tim. Afflicted and forsaken on each side, And lefte to the wide worlde, I yee beseeche To giue mee house-roome ; only this I aske, A hole wherein to hide my misery. Dem. Art thou a stranger or Athenian ? What country ? whats thy name ? Tim. Know'st thou not ? ah, Demeas, know'st thou not? This face, these hands thou heretofore didst knowe : Am I soe soone forgotte and wholy chang'd ? And is there nothing now of Timon lefte ? Dem. Thou brazen face, I...

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