What! we have many goodly days to see:
The liquid drops of tears that you have shed,
Shall come again, transform'd to orient pearl;
Advantaging their loan, with interest
Often-times-double gain of happiness.
Why should'st thou hate men?
They never flatter'd thee: What hast thou given?
Hate all, curse all: shew charity to none;
But let the famish'd flesh slide from the bone,
Ere thou relieve the beggar: give to dogs
What thou deny'st to men; let prisons swallow them,
Debts wither them to nothing: Be men like blasted
And may diseases lick up their false bloods.
Nor sleep, nor sanctuary,
Being naked, sick nor fane, nor capitol,
The prayers of priests, nor times of sacrifice,
Embarquements all of fury, shall lift up
Their rotten privilege and custom against
My hate to Marcius: where I find him, were it
At home, upon my brother's guard, even there
Against the hospitable canon, would I
Wash my fierce hand in 's heart.
Cut short all intermission; front to front
Bring thou this fiend of Scotland and myself;
Within my sword's length set him; if he 'scape,
Heaven forgive him too!
All feasts, societies, and throngs of men!
His semblable, yea, himself, Timon disdains
Destruction fang mankind!
I am Misantropos, and hate mankind.
For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog,
That I might love thee something.
Nothing I'll bear from thee,
But nakedness, thou detestable town!
Timon will to the woods; where he shall find
The unkindest beast more kinder than mankind.
Had I power, I should
Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell,
Uproar the universal peace, confound
All unity on earth.
Had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted, And barbarism itself have pitied him.
That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven,
If heaven will take the present at our hands.
Sit, cousin Percy; sit, good cousin Hotspur.
For by that name, as oft as Lancaster
Doth speak of you, his cheeks look pale; and with
A rising sigh, he wisheth you in heaven.
Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I pray,
That I may live to say, The dog is dead!
Would he were wasted, marrow, bones, and all,
That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring,
To cross me from the golden time I look for!
York! but that I hate thee deadly,
I should lament thy miserable state.
I pr'ythee, grieve, to make me merry, York;
Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance.
What! were you snarling all, before I came,
Ready to catch each other by the throat,
And turn you all your hatred now on me?
Had the passions of thy heart burst out,
I fear, we should have seen decypher'd there,
More rancorous spight, more furious raging broils,
Than yet can be imagin'd or suppos'd.
I'll have my bond; speak not against my bond:
I have sworn an oath, that I will have my bond
Thou call'st me dog, before thou had'st a cause;
But since I am a dog, beware my fangs.
You'll ask me, why I rather choose to have
A weight of carrion flesh, than to receive
Three thousand ducats: I'll not answer that:
But, say, it is my humour; Is it answer'd?
I'll not be made a soft and dull-ey'd fool,
To shake the head, relent, and sigh, and yield
To christian intercessors.
And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,―
I am determined to prove a villain,
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Then, since the heavens have shap'd my body so, Let hell make crook'd my mind to answer it.
I have no brother, I am like no brother:
And this word-love, which greybeards call divine, Be resident in men like one another,
And not in me; I am myself alone.
By all the operations of the orbs,
From whom we do exist, and cease to be;
Here I disclaim all my paternal care,
Propinquity and property of blood,
And as a stranger to my heart and me
Hold thee, from this, for ever.
Tell Athens, in the sequence of degree,
From high to low throughout, that whoso please
To stop affliction, let him take his haste,
Come hither, ere my tree hath felt the axe,
And hang himself.
How like a fawning publican he looks!
I hate him for he is a christian :
But more, for that, in low simplicity,
He lends out money gratis, and brings down
The rate of usance here with us in Venice.
Thou may'st hold a serpent by the tongue,
A chafed lion by the mortal paw,
A fasting tiger safer by the tooth,
Than keep in peace that hand which thou dost hold.
Were half to half the world by th'ears, and he
Upon my party, I'd revolt to make
Only my wars with him: he is a lion
That I am proud to hunt.
To solemnize this day, the glorious sun
Stays in his course, and plays the alchymist;
Turning, with splendour of his precious eye,
The meagre cloddy earth to glittering gold:
The yearly course, that brings this day about,
Shall never see it but a holy-day.
Forgive my general and exceptless rashness,
You perpetual sober gods! I do proclaim
One honest man,-mistake me not,—but one ;
No more, I pray,—and he is a steward.
There is no terror, Cassius, in your
For I am arm'd so strong in honesty,
That they pass by me, as the idle wind,
Which I respect not.
Methinks, thou art more honest now, than wise;
For, by oppressing and betraying me,
Thou might'st have sooner got another service:
For many so arrive, at second masters,
Upon their first lord's neck.
That liv'st to make thine honesty a vice!
O monstrous world! Take note, take note, O world,
To be direct and honest, is not safe.
Ay, sir; to be honest as this world goes,
Is to be one pick'd out of ten thousand.
The mere word's a slave,
Debauch'd on every tomb; on every grave,
A lying trophy; and as oft is dumb,
Where dust, and damn'd oblivion, is the tomb
Of honour'd bones indeed.
That is honour's scorn,
Which challenges itself as honour's born,
And is not like the sire: Honours thrive,
When rather from our acts we them derive
Than our fore-goers.
From lowest place when virtuous things proceed,
The place is dignify'd by the doer's deed:
Where great additions swell, and virtue none,
It is a dropsied honour.
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