By all description this should be the place.
Who’s here? Speak, ho! No answer? What is this?
_Timon is dead, who hath outstretched his span.
Some beast read this; there does not live a man._
Dead, sure, and this his grave. What’s on this tomb
I cannot read. The character I’ll take with wax.
Our captain hath in every figure skill,
An aged interpreter, though young in days.
Before proud Athens he’s set down by this,
Whose fall the mark of his ambition is.
By all accounts, this should be the place. Who's here? Speak! No answer? What is this? Timon is dead, who has ended his span of years. Some beast read this—there is not one man left alive. Dead for certain. This is his grave. What's on this tomb I cannot read. I'll take the inscription with wax. Our captain has skill with all writing—an aged interpreter though young in years. Before proud Athens he's been laid to rest by now, whose fall marks the height of his ambition.
This has to be the right place. Anyone here? Nothing. There's a grave. Timon is dead—his time is over. Some animal reads this—there's not a human left alive. He's definitely dead. I can't read what's on the tomb. I'll make a wax copy. Our captain can read anything, even if he's young. He's lying here before Athens now, and his fall shows just how far ambition goes.
timon is dead no humans left alive grave here can't read the epitaph his fall marks ambition's end