Читать книгу The Life of Timon of Athens - Уильям Шекспир, William Szekspir, the Simon Studio - Страница 5

And late, five thousand: to Varro and to Isidore

He owes nine thousand; besides my former sum,

Which makes it five-and-twenty. Still in motion

Of raging waste! It cannot hold; it will not.

If I want gold, steal but a beggar's dog

And give it Timon, why, the dog coins gold;

If I would sell my horse, and buy twenty more

Better than he, why, give my horse to Timon,

Ask nothing, give it him, it foals me straight,

And able horses. No porter at his gate,

But rather one that smiles and still invites

All that pass by. It cannot hold; no reason

Can found his state in safety. Caphis, ho!

Caphis, I say!

Here, sir; what is your pleasure?

Get on your cloak, and haste you to Lord Timon;

Importune him for my moneys; be not ceas'd

With slight denial, nor then silenc'd when —

'Commend me to your master' – and the cap

Plays in the right hand, thus; – but tell him,

My uses cry to me; I must serve my turn

Out of mine own; his days and times are past,

And my reliances on his fracted dates

Have smit my credit: I love and honour him,

But must not break my back to heal his finger;

Immediate are my needs, and my relief

Must not be toss'd and turn'd to me in words,

But find supply immediate. Get you gone:

Put on a most importunate aspect,

A visage of demand; for I do fear,

When every feather sticks in his own wing,

Lord Timon will be left a naked gull,

Which flashes now a phoenix. Get you gone.

I go, sir.

Take the bonds along with you,

And have the dates in compt.

I will, sir.

Go.

No care, no stop! So senseless of expense,

That he will neither know how to maintain it,

Nor cease his flow of riot: takes no account

How things go from him, nor resumes no care

Of what is to continue: never mind

Was to be so unwise, to be so kind.

What shall be done? He will not hear, till feel:

I must be round with him. Now he comes from hunting.

Fie, fie, fie, fie!

Good even, Varro. What! You come for money?

Is't not your business too?

It is: and yours too, Isidore?

It is so.

Would we were all discharg'd!

I fear it.

Here comes the lord!

So soon as dinner's done, we'll forth again.

My Alcibiades. With me? what is your will?

My lord, here is a note of certain dues.

Dues! Whence are you?

Of Athens here, my lord.

Go to my steward.

Please it your lordship, he hath put me off

To the succession of new days this month:

My master is awak'd by great occasion

To call upon his own; and humbly prays you

That with your other noble parts you'll suit

In giving him his right.

Mine honest friend,

I prithee, but repair to me next morning.

Nay, good my lord, —

Contain thyself, good friend.

One Varro's servant, my good lord, —

From Isidore; he humbly prays your speedy payment.

If you did know, my lord, my master's wants, —

'Twas due on forfeiture, my lord, six weeks and past.

Your steward puts me off, my lord; and

I am sent expressly to your lordship.