Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Tim. And shortly must I fell it. Tell my Friends,
Tim. Tell Athens, in the sequence of degree,
Tim. From high to low throughout, that who so please
Tim. To stop Affliction, let him take his haste;
Tim. Come hither ere my Tree hath felt the Axe,
Tim. And hang himselfe. I pray you do my greeting.
Stew. Stew.
Stew. Trouble him no further, thus you still shall
Stew. Finde him.
Tim. Tim.
Tim. Come not to me againe, but say to Athens,
Tim. Timon hath made his euerlasting Mansion
Tim. Vpon the Beached Verge of the salt Flood,
Tim. Who once a day with his embossed Froth
Tim. The turbulent Surge shall couer; thither come,
Tim. And let my graue‑stone be your Oracle:
Tim. Lippes, let foure words go by, and Language end:
Tim. What is amisse, Plague and Infection mend.
Tim. Graues onely be mens workes, and Death their gaine;
Tim. Sunne, hide thy Beames, Timon hath done his Raigne.