Original: Had I a steward
Modern: Did I really have a servant

Original: So true, so just, and now so comfortable?
Modern: So loyal, so fair, and now so comforting?

Original: It almost turns my dangerous nature mild.
Modern: It nearly softens my bitter and angry personality.

Original: Let me behold thy face. Surely, this man
Modern: Let me look at your face. Certainly, this man

Original: Was born of woman.
Modern: Was born from a human mother.

Original: Forgive my general and exceptless rashness,
Modern: Forgive my hasty judgment that included everyone without exception,

Original: You perpetual-sober gods! I do proclaim
Modern: You eternally wise gods! I now declare

Original: One honest man—mistake me not—but one;
Modern: One honest man exists—don’t misunderstand me—only one;

Original: No more, I pray,—and he’s a steward.
Modern: No more than that, I swear—and he’s just a servant.

Original: How fain would I have hated all mankind!
Modern: How gladly I would have hated all of humanity!

Original: And thou redeem’st thyself: but all, save thee,
Modern: And you have saved yourself from my hatred: but everyone except you,

Original: I fell with curses.
Modern: I struck down with my curses.

Original: Methinks thou art more honest now than wise;
Modern: I think you’re being more honorable now than smart;

Original: For, by oppressing and betraying me,
Modern: Because, by taking advantage of me and being disloyal,

Original: Thou mightst have sooner got another service:
Modern: You might have more quickly gotten another job:

Original: For many so arrive at second masters,
Modern: For many people get their next employer

Original: Upon their first lord’s neck. But tell me true—
Modern: By stepping on their first master’s neck. But tell me honestly—

Original: For I must ever doubt, though ne’er so sure—
Modern: Because I must always be suspicious, even when things seem certain—

Original: Is not thy kindness subtle, covetous,
Modern: Isn’t your kindness actually cunning and greedy,

Original: If not a usuring kindness, and, as rich men deal gifts,
Modern: A loan-shark type of kindness, like how rich men give gifts,

Original: Expecting in return twenty for one?
Modern: Expecting to get back twenty times what they gave?

Timon of Athens tells the story of a wealthy Athenian nobleman whose excessive generosity leads to his downfall. In the first half of the play, Timon lavishes gifts, throws extravagant banquets, and freely lends money to anyone who asks, despite warnings from his loyal steward Flavius about his dwindling finances. Timon dismisses these concerns, believing his generosity will be repaid by the loyalty of his many friends. However, his creditors eventually come calling, and Timon discovers he has no money left to pay his debts.

When Timon’s financial ruin becomes apparent, he sends servants to ask his former friends and beneficiaries for loans to help him through his crisis. One by one, they all refuse him with various excuses - Lucilius claims his money is tied up in investments, Lucullus pretends not to be home, and Sempronius feels insulted that Timon didn’t ask him first. Faced with this universal rejection, Timon invites all his false friends to one final feast, where he serves them warm water and stones, then curses them and banishes himself from Athens.

Timon retreats to a cave in the wilderness outside Athens, where he becomes a misanthropic hermit, railing against humanity and civilization. While digging for roots to eat, he discovers gold in the earth. Various visitors come to see him in his exile, including the loyal Flavius, the philosopher Apemantus (who had always criticized Timon’s generosity), thieves seeking the gold, and the exiled general Alcibiades who is marching against Athens. Timon gives away the gold freely but refuses all attempts at reconciliation or friendship. The play ends with news of Timon’s death reaching Athens, where Alcibiades has successfully taken the city and promises to restore order and justice.