TIMON OF ATHENS.

ACT I. SCENE I.

A Hall in Timon's House.

Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and Mercer,
at feveral doors.

G

GOOD day, fir.

РОЕТ.

Pain. I am glad ye are well.

Poet. I have not feen you long; how goes the world?
Pain. It wears, fir, as it grows.

Poet. Ay, that's well known:

But what particular rarity? what fo ftrange,
Which manifold record not matches? See,
Magick of bounty! all these spirits thy power
Hath conjur'd to attend. I know the merchant.
Pain. I know them both; th' other's a jeweller.
Mer. O, 'tis a worthy lord!

Jew. Nay, that's most fix'd.

Mer. A moft incomparable man; breath'd, as it were,

To an untirable and continuate goodness.

Few. I have a jewel here.

Mer. O, pray, let's fee't.

For the lord Timon, fir?

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.

[repeating to himself.

Mer. 'Tis a good form.

Jew. And rich: here is a water, look ye.

[looking on the jewel.

Pain. You're rapt, fir, in some work, fome dedication

To the great lord.

Poet. A thing flip'd idly from me.

Our poefy is as a gum, which iffues

From whence 'tis nourished. The fire i'th'flint
Shows not, till it be ftruck: our gentle flame
Provokes itself, and, like the current, flies
Each bound it chafes. What have you there?

Pain. A picture, fir. And when comes your book forth? Poet. Upon the heels of my prefentment, fir.

Let's fee your piece.

Pain. 'Tis a good piece.

Poet. 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 fhoots forth how big imagination

eye

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 fay of it,

It tutors nature; artificial ftrife

Lives in these touches, livelier than life.

Enter certain Senators.

Pain. How this lord is followed!

Poet. The fenators of Athens! happy man!

Pain. Look, more!

Poet. You fee this confluence, this great flood of vifiters.

I have, in this rough work, fhap'd out a man

Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug

With ampleft entertainment. My free drift

Halts

Halts not particularly, but moves itself
In a wide fea of wax: no levell'd malice
Infects one comma in the course I hold;
It flies an eagle-flight, bold, and forth on,
Leaving no track behind.

Pain. How fhall I understand you?
Poet. I'll unbolt to you.

You fee, how all conditions, how all minds,
As well of glib and flipp'ry natures, 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 forts of hearts; yea, from the glass-fac’d flatterer
To Apemantus, that few things loves better

Than to make himself abhorr'd; ev'n he drops down
The knee before him, and returns in peace
Moft 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 deferts, all kind of natures,
That labour on the bofom of this sphere
To propagate their states: amongst them all,
Whofe eyes are on this fov'reign lady fix'd,
One do I perfonate of Timon's frame,

Whom fortune with her iv'ry hand wafts to her;
Whose present grace to prefent flaves and fervants
Tranflates his rivals.

Pain. 'Tis conceiv'd to th' fcope:

This throne, this fortune, and this hill, methinks,
With one man beckon'd from the reft below
Bowing his head against the steepy mount

To climb his happiness, would be well exprefs'd
In our condition.

Poet. Nay, but hear me on:

All those which were his fellows but of late,
Some better than his value, on the moment
Follow his ftrides, his lobbies fill with tendance,
Rain facrificial whisp'rings in his ear,

Make facred 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,
Ev'n on their knees and hands, let him flip down,
Not one accompanying his declining foot.

Pain. 'Tis common:

A thousand moral paintings I can show,

That shall demonftrate these quick blows of fortune
More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well
To show lord Timon, that men's eyes have seen
The foot above the head.

SCENE II.

Trumpets found. Enter Timon addreffing himself courteously to every Suitor. ?

Tim. Imprifon'd is he, fay you

[to a Messenger.
Mef. Ay, my good lord; five talents is his debt,
His means moft fhort, his creditors moft ftrait:
Your honourable letter he defires

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

Tim. Noble Ventidius! well;

I am not of that feather, to shake off

My friend when he most needs me. I know him

A gentleman that well deferves a help,

Which he shall have. I'll pay the debt, and free him,

Mef. Your lordship ever binds him.

Tim. Commend me to him: I will fend his ransome; And, being enfrancis'd, bid him come to me: 'Tis not enough to help the feeble up,

But to fupport him after.

Fare you well.

Mes. All happiness to your honour!

Enter an old Athenian.

0. Ath. Lord Timon, hear me speak.

Tim. Freely, good father.

0. Ath. Thou haft a fervant nam'd Lucilius.

Tim. I have fo: what of him?

0. Ath. Moft noble Timon, call the man before thee. Tim. Attends he here, or no? — Lucilius!

Enter Lucilius.

Luc. Here, at your lordship's fervice.

0. 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;
And my estate deserves an heir more rais'd,
Than one which holds a trencher.

Tim. Well: what further?

0. Ath. One only daughter have I, no kin else,
On whom I may confer what I have got:
The maid is fair, o'th' 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 pray thee, noble lord,
Join with me to forbid him her refort;
Myself have spoke in vain.

[Exit.

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