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Jew. If he will touch the estimate : but for that

Poet. When we for recompence have prais'd the vile, It ftains the glory in that happy verse Which aptly fings the good.

Mer. 'Tis a good form. (Looking on the jeruel. Jewy. And rich; here is a water, look ye.

Pain. You're rapt, Sir, in some work, some dedication To the great Lord.

Poet. A thing slipt idly from me.
Our poesy is as a gum, which issues
From whence 'cis nourished. The fire i' th' Aint
Shews not, 'till it be ftruck : our gentle flame
Provokes itself, and like the current flies
Each bound it chases. What have you there? (1)

Pain. A picture, Sir:-when comes your book forth?

Poet. Upon the heels of my presentment, Sir. Let's see your piece.

Pain. "Tis a good piece.

Poct. So 'tis,
This comes off well and excellent.

Pain. Indiff'rent.

Poet. Admirable! how this grace
Speaks his own ftanding? what a mental power
This eye shoots forth? how big imagination
Moves in this lip? to th’ dumbness of the gesture
One might interpret. .

Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life:
Here is a touch-is't good ?

Poet. I'll say of it,
It tutors nature; artificial strife
Lives in those touches, livelier than life.

(1) Each bound it chases.--) How, chases? The flood, indeed beat. ing up upon the shore, covers a part of it, but cannot be said to drive the shore away. The poet's allufion is to a wive, which, foaming and chafing on the more, breaks; and then the water seems to the eye to retire. So, in Lear.

-The murmuring surge,
That on th' unnumber'd idle pebbles chafes, &c.
And so in Jul. Cæfar.
The troubled Tiber, chafing with his shores.


Enter certain Senators.
Pain. How this Lord is followed!
Poet. The Senators of Athens! happy man! (2)
Pain. Look, more!

Poet. You see this confluence, this great flood of visiters.
I have, in this rough work sap'd out a man,
Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug
With amplest entertainment. My free drift
Halts not particular, but moves itself
In a wide sea of wax; no levell'd malice
Infects one comma in the course I hold,
But flies an eagle-flight, bold, and forth on,
Leaving no tra&t behind.

Pain. How shall I understand you?

Poet. I'll unbolt to you. You see, how all conditions, how all minds, As well of glib and flipp’ry creatures, as Of grave and auftere quality, tender down Their service to Lord Timon: his large fortune, Upon his good and gracious nature hanging, Subdues and properties to his love and tendance All sorts of hearts ; yea, from the glass-fac'd flatterer To Apemantus, that few things loves better Than to abhor himself; ev'n he drops down The knee before him, and returns in peace Most rich in Timon's nod.

Pain. I saw them speak together.

Poet. I have upon a high and pleasant hill Feign'd Fortune to be thron'd. The base o'th' mount Is rank'd with all deserts, all kind of natures, That labour on the bosom of this sphere To propagate their states; amongst them all, Whose eyes are on this fov’reign Lady fixt, One do personate of T'imon's frame, Whom Fortune with her iv'ry hand wafts to her,

(2) Happy men!] Thus the printed copies: but I cannot think the poet meant, that the senators were happy in being admitte to Timon; their quality might command that: but that Timon was happy in being follow'd, and caress’d, by those of their rank and dignity. F 2


Whofe prefent grace to present flaves and servants
Translates his rivals.

Pain. 'Tis conceiv'd to th' scope. (3)
This throne, this fortune, and this hill, methinks,
With one man beckon'd from the rest below,
Bowing his head againft the fteepy mount
To climb his happiness, would be well expreft
In our condition.

Poeti Nay, but hear me on:
All those which were his fellows but of late,
Some better than his value, on the moment
Follow his strides; his lobbies fill with tendance;
Rain facrificial whisp'rings in his ear;
Make sacred even his stirrop; and through him
Drink the free air.

Pain. Ay, marry, what of these?

Poet. When Fortune in her shift and change of mood Spurns down her late belov'd, all his dependants (Which labour'd after to the mountain's top, Even on their knees and hands,) let him flip down, Not one accompanying his declining foot.

Pain. 'Tis common : A thousand moral paintings I can skew, That shall demonstrate thele quick blows of fortune More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well To ihew Lord Timom, that mean eyes have seen The foot above the head.

(3) 'Tis conceiv'd, to scope

This throne, this fortune, &c.] Thus all the editors hitherto have nonfenfically writ, and pointed, this passage. But, sure, the painter would tell the poet, your conception, Sir, hits the very scope you aim at. This the Greeks would have render'd, oxota Tuxeis, re&ta ad Scopum tendis: and Cicero has thus express’d on the like occalion, Signum oculis defiinatum firis. This sense our author, in his Henry 8th, exprefits;

I think, you've bit the mark.
And in bis Julius Cæfar, at the conclusion of the first act;

Him, and his worth, and our great need of him,
You have right well conceited.


Trumpets found. Enter Timon, addresing bimself courteously

to every suitor. Tim. Imprison’d is he, say you? [To a Mefinger. Mef. Ay, my good Lord; five talents in his debt, His means molt inort, his creditors moit straight: Your honourable letter he desires To those have shut him up, which failing to him Periods his comfort.

Tim. Noble Ventidius! well me I am not of that feather to shake off My friend when he most needs me. I do know him A gentleman that well deserves a help, Which he ihall have. I'll pay the debt, and free him.

Mes. Your Lord hip ever binds him.

Tiin. Commend me to him, I will send his ransom-; And, being enfranchiz'd, bid h'm come to me; 'Tis not enough to help the feeble up, But to support him after. Fare you well. Mes. All happiness to your honour ! [Exit.

Enter an old Athenian.
Old Ath. Lord Timon, hear me speak.
Tim. Freely, good father.
Old Ath. Thou hast a servant nam'd Lucilius.
Tim. I have fo: what of him?
Old Ath. Most noble Timon, call the man before thee,
Tin. Attends he here or no? Lucilius !

Enter Lucilius.
Luc. Here, at your Lordship's service.

Old Ath. This fellow here, Lord Timon, this thy creature
By night frequents my house. I am a man
That from my first have been inclin’d to thrift,

eftate deferves an heir more rais’d, Than one which holds a trencher.

Tim. Well: what further?

Old Ath. One only daughter have I, ro kin elfe, On whom I may confer what I have got: The maid is fair, o'th' youngest for a bride,


F 3

And I have bred her at my deareft cost,
In qualities of the best. This man of thine
Attempts her love : I pray thee, noble Lord,
Join with me to forbid him her resort;
Myself have spoke in vain.

Tim. The man is honest.

Old Ath. Therefore he will be, Timon. (4)
His honesty rewards him in itself,
It muft not bear my daughter.

Tim. Does the love him s
Old Ath. She is



Our own precedent passions do instruct us,
What levity's in youth.

Tim. Love you the maid?
Luc. Ay, my good Lord, and the accepts of it.

Old Ath. If in her marriage my consent be mising,
I call the gods to witness, I will chuse
Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world,
And difpoflefs her all.

Tim. How shall she be endowed,
If she be mated with an equal husband ?

Old Ath. Three talents on the present, in future all.

Tim. This gentleman of mine hath fervid me long;
To build his fortune I will strain a little,
For 'tis a bond in men. Give him thy daughter :
What you bestow, in him I'll counterpoise,
And make him weigh with her.

Old Ath. Most noble Lord,
Pawn me to this your honour, she is his.

Tim. My hand to thee, mine honour on my promise,

Luc. Humbly I thank your Lordship: never may That ftate, or fortune, fall into my keeping, Which is not ow'd to you. [Exe. Luc. and old Athenian.

Poet. Vouch safe my labour, and long live your Lordship! Tim. I thank you, you shall hear from me anon :

(4) Therefore be will be, Timon.] The thought is closely express’d, and obscure : but this seems the meaning. “ If the man be honeft,

Lord, for that reason he will be so in this; and not endeavour “ at the injustice of gaining my daughter without my consent."

Mr. Warburton.


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