TIMON OF ATHENS

ACT I.

SCENE I.-Athens. A Hall in TIMON's House.

Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and Others, at several doors.

POET. Good day, sir.

PAINTER.

I am glad you're well. POET. I have not seen you long. How goes the world?

PAINTER. It wears, sir, as it grows.

POET.

Ay, that 's well known ; But what particular rarity? what strange, Which manifold record not matches? See, Magic of bounty! all these spirits thy power Hath conjur'd to attend. I know the merchant. PAINTER. I know them both; th' other's a jeweller. O! 'tis a worthy lord.

MERCHANT.

JEWELLER.

MERCHANT.

it were,

Nay, that's most fix'd. A most incomparable man, breath'd, as

To an untirable and continuate goodness:

He passes.

JEWELLER. I have a jewel here

MERCHANT.

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O pray, let's see 't: for the Lord

Timon, sir? JEWELLER. If he will touch the estimate: but, for that

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POET. 'When we for recompense have prais'd the vile, It stains the glory in that happy verse Which aptly sings the good.'

MERCHANT.

JEWELLER.

[Looking at the jewel.] 'Tis a good form. And rich: here is a water, look ye.

PAINTER. You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedication

To the great lord.

POET.

A thing slipp'd idly from me.
Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes
From whence 'tis nourish'd: the fire i' the flint
Shows not till it be struck; our gentle flame
Provokes itself, and, like the current, flies
Each bound it chafes. What have you there?
PAINTER. A picture, sir.

forth?

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When comes your book

POET. Upon the heels of my presentment, sir. Let's see your piece.

PAINTER. 'Tis a good piece.

POET. So 'tis this comes off well and excellent.
PAINTER.

POET.

Indifferent.

Admirable! How this grace

Speaks his own standing! what a mental power
This eye shoots forth! how big imagination
Moves in this lip! to the dumbness of the gesture
One might interpret.

PAINTER. It is a pretty mocking of the life.
Here is a touch; is 't good?

POET.

It tutors nature: artificial strife

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I'll say of it,

Lives in these touches, livelier than life.

Enter certain Senators, who pass over the stage.

PAINTER. How this lord is follow'd!

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POET. The senators of Athens: happy man!
PAINTER. Look, more!

POET. You see this confluence, this great flood of visitors.

I have, in this rough work, shap'd out a man,
Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug
With amplest entertainment: my free drift
Halts not particularly, 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,

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Leaving no tract behind.

POET.

PAINTER. How shall I understand you? I will unbolt to you. You see how all conditions, how all mindsAs well of glib and slippery creatures as Of grave and austere quality-tender down Their services 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: even he drops down The knee before him and returns in peace Most rich in Timon's nod.

PAINTER.

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I saw them speak together. POET. Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill Feign'd Fortune to be thron'd: the base o' the

mount

Is rank'd with all deserts, all kinds of natures,
That labour on the bosom of this sphere

To propagate their states: amongst them all,
Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady fix'd,
One do I personate of Lord Timon's frame,
Whom Fortune with her ivory hand wafts to her;
Whose present grace to present slaves and servants
Translates his rivals.

PAINTER.

'Tis conceiv'd to scope.

This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks,
With one man beckon'd from the rest below,
Bowing his head against the steepy mount
To climb his happiness, would be well express'd
In our condition.

POET.

Nay, sir, 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 sacrificial whisperings in his ear,

Make sacred even his stirrup, and through him
Drink the free air.

PAINTER.

Ay, marry, what of these ?

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

PAINTER. 'Tis common:

A thousand moral paintings I can show

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That shall demonstrate these quick blows of Fortune's
More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well
To show Lord Timon that mean eyes have seen
The foot above the head.

Trumpets sound. Enter LORD TIMON, addressing himself cour teously to every suitor; a Messenger from VENTIDIUS talking with him; LUCILIUS and other servants following.

TIMON.

Imprison'd is he, say you? MESSENGER. Ay, my good lord: five talents is his debt,

His means most short, his creditors most strait :
Your honourable letter he desires

To those have shut him up; which failing,
Periods his comfort.

TIMON.

Noble Ventidius! Well;

I am not of that feather to shake off
My friend when he must need me.

I do know him
A gentleman that well deserves a help,

Which he shall have: I'll pay the debt and free him.
MESSENGER. Your lordship ever binds him.

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TIMON. Commend me to him. I will send his

ransom;

And being enfranchis'd, bid him come to me. "Tis not enough to help the feeble up,

But to support him after. Fare you well.

MESSENGER.

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All happiness to your honour.

[Exit.

Enter an old Athenian.

OLD ATHENIAN.
TIMON

OLD ATHENIAN.

Thou hast a servant nam'd Lucilius.

TIMON. I have so what of him?

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OLD ATHENIAN.

before thee.

Most noble Timon, call the man

TIMON. Attends he here or no? Lucilius!

LUCILIUS. Here, at your lordship's service.

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OLD ATHENIAN. 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,
And my estate deserves an heir more rais'd
Than one which holds a trencher.

TIMON.

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Well; what further?

OLD ATHENIAN. One only daughter have I, no kin else,

On whom I may confer what I have got :
The maid is fair, o' the youngest for a bride,
And I have bred her at my dearest cost
In qualities of the best. This man of thine
Attempts her love: I prithee, noble lord,
Join with me to forbid him her resort;
Myself have spoke in vain.

TIMON.

OLD ATHENIAN.

The man is honest.
Therefore he will be, Timon:

His honesty rewards him in itself;
It must not bear my daughter.

TIMON.

Does she love him?

OLD ATHENIAN. She is young and apt : Our own precedent passions do instruct us What levity's in youth.

TIMON. [TO LUCILIUS.] Love you the maid ?

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LUCILIUS. Ay, my good lord, and she accepts of it. OLD ATHENIAN. If in her marriage my consent be missing,

I call the gods to witness, I will choose

Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world,

And dispossess her all.

TIMON.

How shall she be endow'd, If she be mated with an equal husband?

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OLD ATHENIAN. Three talents on the present; in

future, all.

TIMON. This gentleman of mine hath serv'd me long: