Timon or The Misanthrope

​Timon So, turned by my misfortunes to this remote corner, and having put on a leather jerkin, I work the earth for a wage of four obols, philosophizing with the wilderness and my mattock. Here, at least, I think I shall gain this much: to no longer see many people faring well beyond their desert; for that indeed is more painful. Now at last, therefore, O son of Cronus and Rhea, shake off this deep and sweet sleep—for you have slept longer than Epimenides—and fanning your thunderbolt or kindling it from Etna to make a great flame, show some of the wrath of a manly and youthful Zeus, unless what is mythologized about you and your tomb there by the Cretans is true.

​Zeus Hermes, who is this shouting from Attica, at the foot of Mount Hymettus, all filthy, squalid, and dressed in a leather jerkin? He is digging, I think, bending over; a talkative and bold fellow. Surely he is a philosopher; for otherwise he would not have delivered such impious speeches against us. Hermes What are you saying, Father? Do you not know Timon, the son of Echecratides, of the Collytus deme? This is the man who often feasted us with perfect victims, the newly rich man of the whole hecatombs, at whose house we used to celebrate the festival of Diasia so splendidly. Zeus Alas, what a change! That handsome, rich man, around whom were so many friends? What has happened to him then, that he is like this—squalid, miserable, a digger and a hireling, as it seems, bringing down so heavy a mattock?

​Hermes To put it thus, his goodness ruined him, along with his love for mankind and his pity for all in need; but to tell the true story, it was folly, simplicity, and lack of judgment regarding friends. The poor wretch did not realize that he was bestowing favors on crows and wolves, but while having his liver torn by so many vultures, he thought they were friends and companions, who rejoiced in the meal out of goodwill toward him. But they, after thoroughly stripping his bones and gnawing them bare, and if any marrow was inside, sucking this out too with great care, departed, leaving him withered and cut off at the roots, no longer recognizing him or looking at him—for why should they?—or helping him or giving in return. On this account, a mattock-user and clad in leather, as you see, having left the city out of shame, he works the land for a wage, brooding over his misfortunes, because those who grew rich through him pass by very contemptuously, not even knowing his name, if he should be called Timon.

​Zeus Indeed, the man must not be overlooked or neglected; for he was rightly angry in his misfortune. For we shall be acting just like those accursed flatterers, if we forget a man who burned so many of the fattest thighs of bulls and goats for us upon the altars; at any rate, I still have the smell of their fat in my nostrils. However, because of my occupation and the great tumult caused by those who commit perjury, violence, and robbery, and furthermore, because of the fear inspired by temple-robbers—for these are many and hard to guard against, and do not allow us to close our eyes even for a moment—I have not looked toward Attica for a long time now. And especially since philosophy and verbal disputes have prevailed among them; for when they fight with one another and shout, it is not even possible to hear the prayers. So that one must either sit with stopped ears or be ruined by them, as they string together “virtue” and “incorporeal things” and nonsenses in a loud voice. Because of these things, indeed, it happened that even this man, who is no worthless fellow, was neglected by us.