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Flinty mankind; whose eyes do never give
But or through luft, or laughter. Pity's fleeping;
Strange times that weep with laughing, not with weeping.

Flav. I beg of you to know me, good my Lord, T'accept my grief, and, whilst this poor wealth lafts, To entertain me as your fteward ftill.

Tim. Had I a steward
So true, so juít, and now fo comfortable ?
It almost turns my dangerous nature wild.
Let me behold thy face: surely, this man
Was born of woman.
Forgive my gen'ral and exceptless rafhness,
Perpetual, fober gods! I do proclaim
One honest man: mistake me not, but one:
No more, I pray; and he's a steward.
How fain would I have hated all mankind,
And thou redeem'it thyfelf: but all, fave thee,
I fell with curses.
Methinks, thou art more honest now, than wise;
For, by oppreffing and betraying me,
Thou mighest have sooner got another service:
For many fo arrive at second masters,
Upon their first Lord's neck. But tell me true,
(For I most ever doubt, though ne'er fo fure)
Is not thy kindness subtle, covetous,
A usuring kindness, as rich men deal gifts,
Expecting in return twenty for one ?

Flav. No, my most worthy master, (in whose breast
Doubt and fufpect, alas, are plac'd too late,)
You should have fear'd false times, when you did feast;
Sufpect still comes, where an estate is least.
That which I shew, heav'n knows, is merely love,
Duty, and zeal, to your unmatched mind,
Care of your food and living: and, believe it,

benefit that points to me
Either in hope, or present, I'd exchange
For this one wish, that you


and wealth To requite me by making rich yourself.

Tim. Look thee, 'tis fo; thou fingly honest man, Here, take; the gods out of my misery


Have sent thee treasure. Go, live rich and happy :
But thus condition'd; Thou shalt build from men:
Hate all, curse all, shew charity to none;
But let the famith'd Aleth slide from the bone,
Ere thou relieve the beggar. Give to dogs
What thou deny'st to men. Let prisons swallow 'em,
Debts wither 'em; be men like blasted woods,

may diseases lick up their false bloods ! And so farewel, and thrive.

Flav. O, let me stay, and comfort you, my master,

Tim. If thou hat'st curses,
Stay not, but fly, whilst thou art bleft and free;
Ne'er see thou man, and let me ne'er see thee.

[Exeunt severalis Enter Poet and Painter. Pain. As I took note of the place, it can't be far where he abides.

Poet. What's to be thought of him? does the rumour hold for true, that he's so full of gold?

Pain. Certain. Alcibiades reports it: Phrynia and Timandra had gold of him : he likewise enrich'd poor ftragling soldiers with great quantity: 'Tis faid, he gave his steward a mighty sum.

Poet. Then this breaking of his has been but a tryal for his friends?

Pain. Nothing else: you fall fee him a palm in Athens again, and flourish with the highest. Therefore, 'tis not amiss, we tender our loves to him, in this fup. pos’d distress of his: it will Mew honestly in us, and is very likely to load our purposes with what they travel for, if it be a juft and true report that goes of his having.

Poet. What have you now to present unto him?

Pain. Nothing at this time but my visitation: only I will promise him an excellent piece.

Poet. I must serve him so too; tell him of an intent that's coming toward him. Pain. Good as the best: Promising is the very

air o'th' time; it opens the eyes of expectation. Performánce is ever the duller for 'his act, and, but in the


plainer and simpler kind of people, the deed is quite out of use. To promise, is most courtly, and fashionable; performance is a kind of will or testament, which argues a great fickness in his judgment that makes it.

Re enter Timon from his cave, unseen. Tim. Excellent workman! thou canst not paint a man so bad as thyse f.

Poet. I am thinking, what I shall say I have provided for him: it must be a personating of himself; a satire against the sofiness of prosperity, with a discovery of the infinite flatteries that follow youth ard opulency.

Tim. Must thou needs stard for a villain in ihine own work? wilt thou whip thine own faults in other men ? do so, I have gold for thee.

Poet. Nay, let's seek him.
Then do we fin against our own estate,
When we may profit meet, and come too late.'

Pain. True.
Poet. While the day ferves, before black-corner'd

night, (35)
Find what thou want't, by free and offer'd light.

1 Tim. I'll meet you at the turn What a god's gold, that he is worshipped In baser temples, than.where swine do feed! 'Tisthou that rigg'it the bark, and plow'st the wave, (36) Settleft admired rev'rence in a flave ; To thee be worship, and thy faints for aye Be crown’d with plagues, that thee alone obey! 'Tis fit I meet them.

Poet. Hail! worthy Timon. Pain. Our late noble master. (35) While the day serves, &c.] This couplet in all the editions is placea to the painter, but, as it is in rhyme, and a fequel of the fentia ment begun by the poet, I have made no scruple to afcribe it to him.

(36). 'Tis thou that rigg At the bark, and plow's the foam, Settlest admired rev’rence in a slave;] As both the couplet preceding, and following this, are in rhyme, I am very apt to fufpect, the rhyme is dismounted here by an accidental corruption; and therefore have ventur'd to replace wave in the room of foam.

Tim. Have I once liv'd to see two honeft men ?

Poet. Sir, having often of your bounty tafted,
Hearing you were retir'd, your friends, fal’n off

Whose chankless natures, oh abhorred spirits !
Not all the whips of heav'n are large enough
What! to you!
Whose star-like nobleness gave life and influence
To their whole being! I am rapt, and cannot
Cover the monstrous bulk of this ingratitude
With any fize of words,

Tim. Let it go naked, men may see't the better: (37)
You that are honest, by being what you are,
Make them beft feen and known.

Pain. He, and myself,
Have travell'd in the great shower of your gifts,
And sweetly felt it.

Tim. Ay, you're honest men.
Pain. We're hither come to offer you our service.

Tim. Moft honeft men ! why, how shall I requite you!
Can you eat roots, and drink cold water? no.
Both. What we can do, we'll do, to do you

service. Tim. Y'are honeft men; you've heard, that I have gold; I'm sure, you have; speak truth, y'are honest men.

Pain, So it is said, my noble Lord, but therefore Came not my friend, nor I,

Tim. Good honest man; thou draw't a counterfeit Beft in all Athens; thou’rt, indeed, the beft; Thou counterfeit't most lively.

Pain. So, so, my Lord.

(37). Let it go, naked men may feet the better;] Thus has this pasfage been ftupidly pointed thro' all the editions, as if naked men could sce better than men in their cloaths. I think verily, if there were any room to credit the experiment, such editors ought to go naked for the improvement of their eye-lights. But, perhaps, they have as little faith as judgment in their own readings. The poet, in the preceding speech haranguing on the ingratitude of Timon's false friends

, says, he cannot cover the monstrousness of it with any fize of words ; to which Timon, as I have rectified the pointing, very aptly replies ;

Let it go naked, men may see'r the better.
So, our poet in his Much Ado about Norbing

Why seekit thou then to cover with excuse
That, which appears in proper nakedness.

Tim. E'en so, Sir, as I say, And for thy fiction, Why, thy verfe swells with stuff so fine and smooth, That thou art even natural in thine art. But for all this, my honeft-natur'd friends, I must needs say, you have a little fault; Marry, not monstrous in you; neither with I, You take much pains to mend.

Both. Beseech your honour
To make it known to us,

Tim. You'll take it ill.
Botb. Most thankfully, my Lord.
Tim. Will you, indeed ?
Both. Doubt it not, worthy Lord.

Tim. There's ne'er a one of you but trusts a knave, That mightily deceives you.

Both. Do we, my Lord?

Tim. Ay, and you hear him cogg, see him diffemble, Know his gross patchery, love him, and feed him; Keep in your bosom, yet remain aflur'a, That he's a made-up villain.

Pain. I know none such, my Lord. Poet. Nor 1. Tim. Look you, I love you well, I'll give you gold, Rid me these villains from your companies; Hang them, or Aab them, drown them in a draught, Confound them by fome course, and come to me, I'll give you gold enough.

Both. Name them, my Lord, let's know them.

Tim. You that way, and you this;-buttwoin company: Each man apart, all fingle and alone, Yet an arch villain keeps him company. If where thou art, two villains shall not be, [To the Painter. Come not near him.--iftbou wouldnt nct refide (Tothe Poet. But where one villain is, then him abandon. Hence, pack, there's gold; ye came for gold, ye flaves; You have work for me ; there's your payment, hence! You are an alchymist, make gold of that: Out, rascal dogs! (Beating and driving 'em out.


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