The Complete Works of William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare (moboreader .TXT) π
The world will be thy widow and still weep,
That thou no form of thee hast left behind,
When every private widow well may keep,
By children's eyes, her husband's shape in mind:
Look what an unthrift in the world doth spend
Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it;
But beauty's waste hath in the world an end,
And kept unused the user so destroys it:
No love toward others in that bosom sits
That on himself such murd'rous shame commits.
10
For shame deny that thou bear'st love to any
Who for thy self art so unprovident.
Grant if thou wilt, thou art beloved of many,
But that thou none lov'st is most evident:
For thou art so possessed with murd'rous hate,
That 'gainst thy self thou stick'st not to conspire,
Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate
Which to repair should be thy chief desire:
O change thy thought, that I may change my mind,
Shall hate be fairer lodged than
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- Author: William Shakespeare
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PROSPERO. [Aside to ARIEL] My tricksy spirit!
ALONSO. These are not natural events; they strengthen From strange to stranger. Say, how came you hither?
BOATSWAIN. If I did think, sir, I were well awake, Iβd strive to tell you. We were dead of sleep, And-how, we know not-all clappβd under hatches; Where, but even now, with strange and several noises Of roaring, shrieking, howling, jingling chains, And moe diversity of sounds, all horrible, We were awakβd; straightway at liberty; Where we, in all her trim, freshly beheld Our royal, good, and gallant ship; our master Capβring to eye her. On a trice, so please you, Even in a dream, were we divided from them, And were brought moping hither.
ARIEL. [Aside to PROSPERO] Wasβt well done?
PROSPERO. [Aside to ARIEL] Bravely, my diligence. Thou shalt be free.
ALONSO. This is as strange a maze as eβer men trod; And there is in this business more than nature Was ever conduct of. Some oracle
Must rectify our knowledge.
PROSPERO. Sir, my liege,
Do not infest your mind with beating on The strangeness of this business; at pickβd leisure, Which shall be shortly, single Iβll resolve you, Which to you shall seem probable, of every These happenβd accidents; till when, be cheerful And think of each thing well. [Aside to ARIEL] Come hither, spirit;
Set Caliban and his companions free;
Untie the spell. [Exit ARIEL] How fares my gracious sir?
There are yet missing of your company Some few odd lads that you remember not.
Re-enter ARIEL, driving in CALIBAN, STEPHANO, and TRINCULO, in their stolen apparel
STEPHANO. Every man shift for all the rest, and let no man take care for himself; for all is but fortune. Coragio, bully-monster, coragio!
TRINCULO. If these be true spies which I wear in my head, hereβs a goodly sight.
CALIBAN. O Setebos, these be brave spirits indeed!
How fine my master is! I am afraid
He will chastise me.
SEBASTIAN. Ha, ha!
What things are these, my lord Antonio?
Will money buyβem?
ANTONIO. Very like; one of them
Is a plain fish, and no doubt marketable.
PROSPERO. Mark but the badges of these men, my lords, Then say if they be true. This misshapen knave-His mother was a witch, and one so strong That could control the moon, make flows and ebbs, And deal in her command without her power.
These three have robbβd me; and this demi-devil-For heβs a bastard one-had plotted with them To take my life. Two of these fellows you Must know and own; this thing of darkness I Acknowledge mine.
CALIBAN. I shall be pinchβd to death.
ALONSO. Is not this Stephano, my drunken butler?
SEBASTIAN. He is drunk now; where had he wine?
ALONSO. And Trinculo is reeling ripe; where should they Find this grand liquor that hath gilded βem?
How camβst thou in this pickle?
TRINCULO. I have been in such a pickle since I saw you last that, I fear me, will never out of my bones. I shall not fear fly-blowing.
SEBASTIAN. Why, how now, Stephano!
STEPHANO. O, touch me not; I am not Stephano, but a cramp.
PROSPERO. Youβd be king oβ the isle, sirrah?
STEPHANO. I should have been a sore one, then.
ALONSO. [Pointing to CALIBAN] This is as strange a thing as eβer I lookβd on.
PROSPERO. He is as disproportioned in his manners As in his shape. Go, sirrah, to my cell; Take with you your companions; as you look To have my pardon, trim it handsomely.
CALIBAN. Ay, that I will; and Iβll be wise hereafter, And seek for grace. What a thrice-double ass Was I to take this drunkard for a god, And worship this dull fool!
PROSPERO. Go to; away!
ALONSO. Hence, and bestow your luggage where you found it.
SEBASTIAN. Or stole it, rather.
Exeunt CALIBAN, STEPHANO, and TRINCULO
PROSPERO. Sir, I invite your Highness and your train To my poor cell, where you shall take your rest For this one night; which, part of it, Iβll waste With such discourse as, I not doubt, shall make it Go quick away-the story of my life,
And the particular accidents gone by
Since I came to this isle. And in the morn Iβll bring you to your ship, and so to Naples, Where I have hope to see the nuptial
Of these our dear-belovβd solemnized, And thence retire me to my Milan, where Every third thought shall be my grave.
ALONSO. I long
To hear the story of your life, which must Take the ear strangely.
PROSPERO. Iβll deliver all;
And promise you calm seas, auspicious gales, And sail so expeditious that shall catch Your royal fleet far off. [Aside to ARIEL] My Ariel, chick,
That is thy charge. Then to the elements Be free, and fare thou well!-Please you, draw near.
Exeunt EPILOGUE
Now my charms are all oβerthrown, And what strength I haveβs mine own, Which is most faint. Now βtis true, I must be here confinβd by you, Or sent to Naples. Let me not,
Since I have my dukedom got,
And pardonβd the deceiver, dwell In this bare island by your spell; But release me from my bands
With the help of your good hands.
Gentle breath of yours my sails Must fill, or else my project fails, Which was to please. Now I want Spirits to enforce, art to enchant; And my ending is despair
Unless I be relievβd by prayer, Which pierces so that it assaults Mercy itself, and frees all faults.
As you from crimes would pardonβd be, Let your indulgence set me free.
THE END
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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1608
THE LIFE OF TIMON OF ATHENS
by William Shakespeare
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
TIMON of Athens
LUCIUS
LUCULLUS
SEMPRONIUS
flattering lords
VENTIDIUS, one of Timonβs false friends ALCIBIADES, an Athenian captain
APEMANTUS, a churlish philosopher
FLAVIUS, steward to Timon
FLAMINIUS
LUCILIUS
SERVILIUS
Timonβs servants
CAPHIS
PHILOTUS
TITUS
HORTENSIUS
servants to Timonβs creditors
POET
PAINTER
JEWELLER
MERCHANT
MERCER
AN OLD ATHENIAN
THREE STRANGERS
A PAGE
A FOOL
PHRYNIA
TIMANDRA
mistresses to Alcibiades
CUPID
AMAZONS
in the Masque
Lords, Senators, Officers, Soldiers, Servants, Thieves, and Attendants
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE
WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE
DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
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SCENE:
Athens and the neighbouring woods
ACT I. SCENE I.
Athens. TIMONβS house
Enter POET, PAINTER, JEWELLER, MERCHANT, and MERCER, at several doors POET. Good day, sir.
PAINTER. I am glad yβare well.
POET. I have not seen you long; how goes the world?
PAINTER. It wears, sir, as it grows.
POET. Ay, thatβs well known.
But what particular rarity? What strange, Which manifold record not matches? See, Magic of bounty, all these spirits thy power Hath conjurβd to attend! I know the merchant.
PAINTER. I know them both; thβ otherβs a jeweller.
MERCHANT. O, βtis a worthy lord!
JEWELLER. Nay, thatβs most fixβd.
MERCHANT. A most incomparable man; breathβd, as it were, To an untirable and continuate goodness.
He passes.
JEWELLER. I have a jewel hereβ
MERCHANT. O, pray letβs seeβt. For the Lord Timon, sir?
JEWELLER. If he will touch the estimate. But for that-POET. When we for recompense have praisβd the vile, It stains the glory in that happy verse Which aptly sings the good.
MERCHANT. [Looking at the jewel] βTis a good form.
JEWELLER. And rich. Here is a water, look ye.
PAINTER. You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedication To the great lord.
POET. A thing slippβd idly from me.
Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes
From whence βtis nourishβd. The fire iβ thβ flint Shows not till it be struck: our gentle flame Provokes itself, and like the current flies Each bound it chafes. What have you there?
PAINTER. A picture, sir. When comes your book forth?
POET. Upon the heels of my presentment, sir.
Letβs see your piece.
PAINTER. βTis a good piece.
POET. So βtis; this comes off well and excellent.
PAINTER. Indifferent.
POET. Admirable. How this grace
Speaks his own standing! What a mental power This eye shoots forth! How big imagination Moves in this lip! To thβ dumbness of the gesture One might interpret.
PAINTER. It is a pretty mocking of the life.
Here is a touch; isβt good?
POET. I will say of it
It tutors nature. Artificial strife
Lives in these touches, livelier than life.
Enter certain SENATORS, and pass over PAINTER. How this lord is followed!
POET. The senators of Athens-happy man!
PAINTER. Look, moe!
POET. You see this confluence, this great flood of visitors.
I have in this rough work shapβd out a man Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug With amplest entertainment. My free drift Halts not particularly, but moves itself In a wide sea of tax. No levellβd malice Infects one comma in the course I hold, But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on, Leaving no tract behind.
PAINTER. How shall I understand you?
POET. I will unbolt to you.
You see how all conditions, how all minds-As well of glib and slippβry creatures as Of grave and austere quality, tender down Their services to Lord Timon. His large fortune, Upon his good and gracious nature hanging, Subdues and properties to his love and tendance All sorts of hearts; yea, from the glass-facβd flatterer To Apemantus, that few things loves better Than to abhor himself; even he drops down The knee before him, and returns in peace Most rich in Timonβs nod.
PAINTER. I saw them speak together.
POET. Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill Feignβd Fortune to be thronβd. The base oβ thβ mount Is rankβd with all deserts, all kind of natures That labour on the bosom of this sphere To propagate their states. Amongst them all Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady fixβd One do I personate of Lord Timonβs frame, Whom Fortune with her ivory hand wafts to her; Whose present grace to present slaves and servants Translates his rivals.
PAINTER. βTis conceivβd to scope.
This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks, With one man beckonβd from the rest below, Bowing his head against the steepy mount To climb his happiness, would be well expressβd In our condition.
POET. Nay, sir, but hear me on.
All those which were his fellows but of late-Some better than his value-on the moment Follow his strides, his lobbies fill with tendance, Rain sacrificial whisperings in his ear, Make sacred even his stirrup, and through him Drink the free air.
PAINTER. Ay, marry, what of these?
POET. When Fortune in her shift and change of mood Spurns down her late beloved, all his dependants, Which labourβd after him to the mountainβs top Even on their knees and hands, let him slip down, Not one accompanying his declining foot.
PAINTER. βTis common.
A thousand moral paintings I can show That shall demonstrate these quick blows of Fortuneβs More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well To show Lord
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