Tim. How doest thou pitty him whom y dost troble, I had rather be alone Alc. Why fare thee well: Heere is some Gold for thee Tim. Keepe it, I cannot eate it Alc. When I haue laid proud Athens on a heape Tim. Warr'st thou 'gainst Athens Alc. I Timon, and haue cause Tim. The Gods confound them all in thy Conquest, And thee after, when thou hast Conquer'd Alc. Why me, Timon? Tim. That by killing of Villaines Thou was't borne to conquer my Country. Put vp thy Gold. Go on, heeres Gold, go on; Be as a Plannetary plague, when Ioue Will o're some high-Vic'd City, hang his poyson In the sicke ayre: let not thy sword skip one: Pitty not honour'd Age for his white Beard, He is an Vsurer. Strike me the counterfet Matron, It is her habite onely, that is honest, Her selfe's a Bawd. Let not the Virgins cheeke Make soft thy trenchant Sword: for those Milke pappes That through the window Barne bore at mens eyes, Are not within the Leafe of pitty writ, But set them down horrible Traitors. Spare not the Babe Whose dimpled smiles from Fooles exhaust their mercy; Thinke it a Bastard, whom the Oracle Hath doubtfully pronounced, the throat shall cut, And mince it sans remorse. Sweare against Obiects, Put Armour on thine eares, and on thine eyes, Whose proofe, nor yels of Mothers, Maides, nor Babes, Nor sight of Priests in holy Vestments bleeding, Shall pierce a iot. There's Gold to pay thy Souldiers, Make large confusion: and thy fury spent, Confounded be thy selfe. Speake not, be gone Alc. Hast thou Gold yet, Ile take the Gold thou giuest me, not all thy Counsell Tim. Dost thou or dost thou not, Heauens curse vpon thee Both. Giue vs some Gold good Timon, hast y more? Tim. Enough to make a Whore forsweare her Trade, And to make Whores, a Bawd. Hold vp you Sluts Your Aprons mountant; you are not Othable, Although I know you'l sweare, terribly sweare Into strong shudders, and to heauenly Agues Th' immortall Gods that heare you. Spare your Oathes: Ile trust to your Conditions, be whores still. And he whose pious breath seekes to conuert you, Be strong in Whore, allure him, burne him vp, Let your close fire predominate his smoke, And be no turne-coats: yet may your paines six months Be quite contrary, And Thatch Your poore thin Roofes with burthens of the dead, (Some that were hang'd) no matter: Weare them, betray with them; Whore still, Paint till a horse may myre vpon your face: A pox of wrinkles Both. Well, more Gold, what then? Beleeue't that wee'l do any thing for Gold