Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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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.
Tim. Exit Timon.
1 1
1 His discontents are vnremoueably coupled to Na
1 ture.
2 2
2 Our hope in him is dead: let vs returne,
2 And straine what other meanes is left vnto vs
2 In our deere perill.