Shakespeare, William, 1564-1616 -- Adaptations; Shakespeare, William, 1564-1616 -- Stories, plots, etc. -- Juvenile literature
the scene which they saw was real, as scarce trusting their own eyes;
at a signal given, the dishes were uncovered, and Timon's drift
appeared: instead of those varieties and far-fetched dainties which
they expected, that Timon's epicurean table in past times had so
liberally presented, now appeared under the covers of these dishes a
preparation more suitable to Timon's poverty, nothing but a little
smoke and lukewarm water, fit feast for this knot of mouth-friends,
whose professions were indeed smoke, and their hearts lukewarm and
slippery as the water with which Timon welcomed his astonished guests,
bidding them, 'Uncover, dogs, and lap'; and before they could recover
their surprise, sprinkling it in their faces, that they might have
enough, and throwing dishes and all after them, who now ran huddling
out, lords, ladies, with their caps snatched up in haste, a splendid
confusion, Timon pursuing them, still calling them what they were,
'smooth smiling parasites, destroyers under the mask of courtesy,
affable wolves, meek bears, fools of fortune, feast-friends,
time-flies.' They, crowding out to avoid him, left the house more
willingly than they had entered it; some losing their gowns and caps,
and some their jewels in the hurry, all glad to escape out of the
presence of such a mad lord, and from the ridicule of his mock banquet.
This was the last feast which ever Timon made, and in it he took
farewell of Athens and the society of men; for, after that, he betook
himself to the woods, turning his back upon the hated city and upon all
mankind, wishing the walls of that detestable city might sink, and the
houses fall upon their owners, wishing all plagues which infest
humanity, war, outrage, poverty, diseases, might fasten upon its
inhabitants, praying the just gods to confound all Athenians, both
young and old, high and low; so wishing, he went to the woods, where he
said he should find the unkindest beast much kinder than mankind. He
stripped himself naked, that he might retain no fashion of a man, and
dug a cave to live in, and lived solitary in the manner of a beast,
eating the wild roots, and drinking water, flying from the face of his
kind, and choosing rather to herd with wild beasts, as more harmless
and friendly than man.
What a change from lord Timon the rich, lord Timon the delight of
mankind, to Timon the naked, Timon the man-hater! Where were his
flatterers now? Where were his attendants and retinue? Would the bleak
air, that boisterous servitor, be his chamberlain, to put his shirt on
warm? Would those stiff trees that had outlived the eagle, turn young
and airy pages to him, to skip on his errands when he bade them? Would
the cool brook, when it was iced with winter, administer to him his
warm broths and caudles when sick of an overnight's surfeit? Or would
the creatures that lived in those wild woods come and lick his hand and
flatter him?
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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