I prithee, beat thy drum and get thee gone

Timon
I prithee, beat thy drum and get thee gone.
Alcibiades
I am thy friend and pity thee, dear Timon.
Timon
How dost thou pity him whom thou dost trouble?
I had rather be alone.

Be as a planetary plague when Jove
Will o’er some high-viced city hang his poison
In the sick air. Let not thy sword skip one.

Alcibiades
Why, fare thee well. Here is some gold for thee.
Timon
Keep it. I cannot eat it.
Alcibiades
When I have laid proud Athens on a heap—
Timon
Warr’st thou ’gainst Athens?
Alcibiades
Ay, Timon, and have cause.
Timon
The gods confound them all in thy conquest,
And thee after, when thou hast conquered!
Alcibiades
Why me, Timon?
Timon
That by killing of villains
Thou wast born to conquer my country.
Put up thy gold. Go on. Here’s gold. Go on.
Be as a planetary plague when Jove
Will o’er some high-viced city hang his poison
In the sick air. Let not thy sword skip one.
Pity not honored age for his white beard;
He is an usurer. Strike me the counterfeit matron;
It is her habit only that is honest,
Herself’s a bawd. Let not the virgin’s cheek
Make soft thy trenchant sword, for those milk paps,
That through the window-bars bore at men’s eyes,
Are not within the leaf of pity writ,
But set them down horrible traitors. Spare not the babe,
Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their mercy;
Think it a bastard whom the oracle
Hath doubtfully pronounced the throat shall cut,
And mince it sans remorse. Swear against objects;
Put armor on thine ears and on thine eyes,
Whose proof nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes,
Nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding,
Shall pierce a jot. (He offers gold.) There’s gold to pay thy soldiers.
Make large confusion and, thy fury spent,
Confounded be thyself! Speak not. Begone.