Timon monologue (Act 4) — Timon of Athens

O blessed breeding sun, draw from the earth Rotten humidity, below thy sister’s orb Infect the air! Twinned brothers of one womb, Whose procreation, residence and birth Scarce is dividant, touch them with several fortunes, The greater scorns the lesser. Not nature, To whom all sores lay siege, can bear great fortune But by contempt of nature. Raise me this beggar, and deny’t that lord; The senator shall bear contempt hereditary, The beggar native honour. It is the pasture lards the rother’s sides, The want that makes him lean. Who dares, who dares In purity of manhood stand upright And say, “This man’s a flatterer”? If one be, So are they all, for every grece of fortune Is smoothed by that below. The learned pate Ducks to the golden fool. All’s obliquy. There’s nothing level in our cursed natures But direct villainy. Therefore be abhorred All feasts, societies, and throngs of men! His semblable, yea, himself, Timon disdains. Destruction fang mankind! Earth, yield me roots!