Reading The Life of Tymon of Athens — William Shakespeare

Direct reading · Original

Section 749

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Tim.

Rogue, Rogue, Rogue.

I am sicke of this false world, and will loue nought

But euen the meere necessities vpon't:

Then Timon presently prepare thy graue:

Lye where the light Fome of the Sea may beate

Thy graue stone dayly, make thine Epitaph,

That death in me, at others liues may laugh.

O thou sweete King‑killer, and deare diuorce

Twixt naturall Sunne and fire: thou bright defiler

Of Himens purest bed, thou valiant Mars,

Thou euer, yong, fresh, loued, and delicate wooer,

Whose blush doth thawe the consecrated Snow

That lyes on Dians lap.

Thou visible God,

That souldrest close Impossibilities,

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