Shakespeare, William / Middleton, Thomas · published 1623 · first performed or written 1607 [c.1606-c.1608] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men T37 Riches, poverty and covetousness typicality 0.86 · 522 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T37: wealth, riches, money, god, rich, poverty, men, learning, poor, ic.
Good Fellows all, The latest of my wealth I'll share amongst you. Where ever we shall meet, for Timon's sake, Let's yet be Fellows. Let's shake our heads, and say As 'twere a Knell unto our Master's Fortunes, We have seen better days. Let each take some: Nay put out all your hands: Not one word more, Thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poor. Oh the fierce wretchedness that Glory brings us! Who would not wish to be from wealth exempt, Since Riches point to Misery and Contempt? Who would be so mocked with Glory, or to live But in a Dream of Friendship, To have his pomp, and all what state compounds, But only painted like his varnished Friends: Poor honest Lord, brought low by his own heart, Undone by Goodness: Strange unusual blood, When man's worst sin is, He does too much Good. Who then dares to be half so kind again? For Bounty that makes Gods, do still mar Men. My dearest Lord, blessed to be most accursed, Rich only to be wretched; thy great Fortunes Are made thy chief Afflictions. Alas (kind Lord) he's fling in Rage from this ingrateful Seat Of monstrous Friends: Nor has he with him to supply his life, Or that which can command it: I'll follow and inquire him out. I'll ever serve his mind, with my best will, Whilst I have Gold, I'll be his Steward still. O blessed breeding Sun, draw from the earth Rotten humidity: below thy Sister's Orb Infect the air. Twined Brothers of one womb, Whose procreation, residence, and birth, Scarce is dividant; touch them with several fortunes, The greater scorns the lesser. Not Nature (To whom all sores lay siege) can bear great Fortune But by contempt of Nature, Raise me this Beggar, and deny't that Lord, The Senators shall bear contempt Hereditary, The Beggar Native Honor. It is the Pastor Lards, the Brother's sides, The want that makes him leave: who dares? who dares In purity of Manhood stand upright And say, this man's a Flatterer. If one be, So are they all: for every grize of Fortune Is smoothed by that below. The Learned pate Ducks to the Golden Foole. All's obloquy: There's nothing level in our cursed Natures But direct villainy. Therefore be abhorred, All Feasts, Societies, and Throngs of men. His semblable, yea himself Timon disdains, Destruction phang mankind; Earth yield me Roots, Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate With thy most operant Poison. What is here? Gold? Yellow, glittering, precious Gold? No Gods, I am no idle Votarist, Roots you clear Heavens. Thus much of this will make Black, white; fowl, fair; wrong, right; Base, Noble; Old, young; Coward, valiant. Ha' you Gods! why this? what this, you Gods? why this Will lug your Priests and Servants from your sides: Pluck stout men's pillows from below their heads. This yellow Slave, Will knit and break Religions, bless th' accursed, Make the hoar Leprosy adored, place thieves, And give them Title, knee, and approbation With Senators on the Bench: This is it That makes the wappened Widow wed again;
seed 43: T35 · seed 44: T34 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Good Fellowes all, The lateſt of my wealth Ile ſhare among'ſt you. Where euer we ſhall meete, for Timons ſake, Let's yet be Fellowes. Let's ſhake our heads, and ſay As 'twere a Knell vnto our Maſters Fortunes, We haue ſeene better dayes. Let each take ſome: Nay put out all your hands: Not one word more, Thus part we rich in ſorrow, parting poore. Oh the fierce wretchedneſſe that Glory brings vs! Who would not wiſh to be from wealth exempt, Since Riches point to Miſery and Contempt? Who would be ſo mock'd with Glory, or to liue But in a Dreame of Friendſhip, To haue his pompe, and all what ſtate compounds, But onely painted like his varniſht Friends: Poore honeſt Lord, brought lowe by his owne heart, Vndone by Goodneſſe: Strange vnvſuall blood, When mans worſt ſinne is, He do's too much Good. Who then dares to be halfe ſo kinde agen? For Bounty that makes Gods, do ſtill marre Men. My deereſt Lord, bleſt to be moſt accurſt, Rich onely to be wretched; thy great Fortunes Are made thy cheefe Afflictions. Alas (kinde Lord) Hee's flung in Rage from this ingratefull Seate Of monſtrous Friends: Nor ha's he with him to ſupply his life, Or that which can command it: Ile follow and enquire him out. Ile euer ſerue his minde, with my beſt will, Whilſt I haue Gold, Ile be his Steward ſtill. O bleſſed breeding Sun, draw from the earth Rotten humidity: below thy Siſters Orbe Infect the ayre. Twin'd Brothers of one wombe, Whoſe procreation, reſidence, and birth, Scarſe is diuidant; touch them with ſeuerall fortunes, The greater ſcornes the leſſer. Not Nature (To whom all ſores lay ſiege) can beare great Fortune But by contempt of Nature, Raiſe me this Begger, and deny't that Lord, The Senators ſhall beare contempt Hereditary, The Begger Natiue Honor. It is the Paſtour Lards, the Brothers ſides, The want that makes him leaue: who dares? who dares In puritie of Manhood ſtand vpright And ſay, this mans a Flatterer. If one be, So are they all: for euerie grize of Fortune Is ſmooth'd by that below. The Learned pate Duckes to the Golden Foole. All's obliquie: There's nothing leuell in our curſed Natures But direct villanie. Therefore be abhorr'd, All Feaſts, Societies, and Throngs of men. His ſemblable, yea himſelfe Timon diſdaines, Deſtruction phang mankinde; Earth yeeld me Rootes, Who ſeekes for better of thee, ſawce his pallate With thy moſt operant Poyſon. What is heere? Gold? Yellow, glittering, precious Gold? No Gods, I am no idle Votariſt, Roots you cleere Heauens. Thus much of this will make Blacke, white; fowle, faire; wrong, right; Baſe, Noble; Old, young; Coward, valiant. Ha you Gods! why this? what this, you Gods? why this Will lugge your Prieſts and Seruants from your ſides: Plucke ſtout mens pillowes from below their heads. This yellow Slaue, Will knit and breake Religions, bleſſe th' accurſt, Make the hoare Leproſie ador'd, place Theeues, And giue them Title, knee, and approbation With Senators on the Bench: This is it That makes the wappen'd Widdow wed againe;