Read it through once

Heere lies a wretched Coarse, of wretched Soule bereft, Seek not my name: A Plague consume you, wicked Caitifs left: Heere lye I Timon, who aliue, all liuing men did hate, Passe by, and curse thy fill, but passe and stay not here thy gate. These well expresse in thee thy latter spirits: Though thou abhorrd'st in vs our humane griefes, Scornd'st our Braines flow, and those our droplets, which From niggard Nature fall; yet Rich Conceit Taught thee to make vast Neptune weepe for aye On thy low Graue, on faults forgiuen. Dead Is Noble Timon, of whose Memorie Heereafter more. Bring me into your Citie, And I will vse the Oliue, with my Sword: Make war breed peace; make peace stint war, make each Prescribe to other, as each others Leach. Let our Drummes strike.