Timon of Athens, [4.3.18-28]. Timon. “All’s obliquy;/ There’s nothing level in our cursed natures/ But direct villainy. Therefore, be abhorr’d/ All feasts, societies, and throngs of men!/ His semblable, yea, himself, Timon disdains./ Destruction fang mankind! Earth, yield me roots!” [digs.] “Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate/ With thy most operant poison!” [finds gold.] “What is here?/ Gold? Yellow, glittering, precious gold?/ No gods, I am no idle votarist. Roots, you clear heavens!”

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