Tim. I take no heed of thee; th'art an Athenian, therefore welcome: I my felf would have no Power---prethee let my Meat make thee filent.

Apem. I fcorn thy Meat, 'twould choak me: For I should ne'er flatter thee. Óh you Gods! What a number of Men eat Timon, and he fees 'em not? It grieves me to fee fo many dip their Meat in one Man's Blood, and all the madness is, he cheers them up too.

I wonder Men dare trust themselves with Men.
Methinks they should invite them without Knives,
Good for their Meat, and fafer for their Lives.

There's much Example for't, the Fellow that fits next him
now, parts Bread with him, pledges the Breath of him
in a divided Draught, is the readiest Man to kill him.
'T has been proved. If I were a huge Man, I fhould fear
to drink at Meals, left they fhould fpy my Wind-pipes
dangerous Notes: Great Men fhould drink with harness on
their Throats.

Tim. My Lord in Heart; and let the Health go round.
Lucul. Let it flow this way, my good Lord.

Apem. Flow this way!--A brave Fellow! he keeps his
Tides well; thofe Healths will make thee and
look ill, Timon.

Here's that which is too weak to be a Sinner,
Honest Water, which ne'er left Man i'th' Mire:
This and my Food are equal, there's no odds;
Feafts are too Proud to give Thanks to the Gods.
Apemantus's Grace.
Immortal Gods, I crave no Pelf;
I pray for no Man but my felf;
Grant I may never prove fo fond,
To trust Man on his Oath or Bond:
Or a Harlot for her Weeping,
Or a Dog that feems a Sleeping,
Or a Keeper with my Freedom,

Or my Friends if I should need 'em.

Amen. So fall to't:

Rich Men Sin, and I eat Root.

Much good dich thy good Heart, Apemantus.
Tim. Captain,

Alcibiades, your Heart's in the Field now.
VOL. V.

H

thy State

Alc.

Alc. My Heart is ever at your Service, my Lord.

Tim. You had rather be at a Breakfast of Enemies, than a Dinner of Friends.

Alc. So they were bleeding new, my Lord, there's no Meat like 'em, I could with my Friend at fuch a Feaft.

Apem. Would all these Flatterers were thine Enemies then; that then thou might'ft kill 'em, and bid me to 'em.

Luc. Might we but have that Happinefs, my Lord, that you would once ufe our Hearts, whereby we might exprefs fome part of our Zeals, we should think our felves for ever Perfect.

Tim. Oh no doubt, my good Friends, but the Gods themselves have provided that I fhall have as much help from you: How had you been my Friends elfe? Why have you that charitable Title from thoufands? Did not you chiefly belong to my Heart? I have told more of you to my felf, than you can with Modefty fpeak in your own behalf. And thus far I confirm you. Oh you Gods, think I, what need we have any Friends, if we should never have need of 'em? They were the most needlefs Creatures living, should we ne'er have ufe for them: And would most resemble fweet Inftruments hung up in Cafes, that keep their Sounds to themselves. Why I have often wifht my felf poorer, that I might come nearer to you: We are born to do Benefits. And what better or properer can we call our own, than the Riches of our Friends? O what a precious Comfort 'tis to have fo many like Brothers commanding one another's Fortunes! Oh Joy, e'en made away e'er't can be born; mine Eyes cannot hold Water, methinks: To forget their Faults, I drink to you.

Apem. Thou weep'ft to make them drink, Timon.
Lucull. Joy had the like Conception in our Eyes,

And at that inftant like a Babe sprung up.

Apem. Ho, hoI laugh to think that Babe a Baftard. 3 Lord. I promife you, my Lord, you mov'd me much. Apem. Much.

Sound Tucket.

Tim. What means that Trump? How now?

Enter Servant.

Ser. Please you, my Lord, there are certain Ladies

Moft defirous of Admittance.

Tim. Ladies? What are their Wills?

Ser. There comes with them a fore-runner, my Lord, Which bears that Office to fignifie their Pleasures. Tim. I pray let them be admitted.

Enter Cupid with a Mask of Ladies.

Cu. Hail to thee, worthy Timon, and to all that of his Bounties tafte: The five beft Senfes acknowledge thee their Patron, and come freely to Gratulate thy plenteous Bofom. There taste, touch, all, pleas'd from thy Table rife They only now come but to feast thine Eyes.

Tim. They're welcome all; let 'em have kind admittance. Mufick make their welcome.

Luc. You fee, my Lord, how ample you are belov'd.
Apem. Hoyday!

What a fweep of Vanity comes this way!
They Dance, they are mad Women',
Like Madness is the Glory of this Life,
As this Pomp fhews to a little Oyl and Root.
We make our felves Fools, to difport our felves,
And spend our flatteries, to drink those Men,
Upon whofe Age we void it up again,
With poisonous Spight and Envy.

Who lives, that's not depraved, or depraves?
Who dies, that bears not one spurn to their Graves

Of their Friends Gift?

I should fear, thofe that dance before me now,
Would one Day ftamp upon me: 'T'as been done,
Men fhut their Doors against a fetting Sun.

The Lords rife from Table, with much adoring of Timon, and to fbew their Loves, each fingle out an Amazon, and all Dance, Men with Women, a lofty strain or two to the Hautboys, and ceafe.

Tim. You have done our Pleasures,

Much Grace, fair Ladies,

Set a fair Fashion on our Entertainment,

Which was not half fo beautiful and kind :

You have added worth unto't, and lively Luftre,
And entertain'd me with mine own Device.

I am to thank you for it.

Lac. My Lord, you take us even at the beft.

Apem. Faith for the worft is filthy, and would not hold taking, I doubt me.

На

Tim.

Tim. Ladies, there is an idle Banquet attends Please you to difpofe your felves.

All La. Moft thankfully, my Lord.

Tim. Flavius.

Flav. My Lord.

Tim. The little Casket bring me hither.

Flav. Yes, my Lord. More Jewels yet? There is no croffing him in's humour,

you.

Eife I should tell him—well-i'faith I fhould,
When all's spent, he'd be crofs'd then, and he could:
Tis pity Bounty has not Eyes behind,

That Man might ne'er be wretched for his Mind.
Luc. Where be our Men?

Serv. Here, my Lord, in readiness.

Lucul. Our Horfes.

Tim. O my Friends!

[Exeunt.

I have one word to fay to you: Look you, my good Lord,

I must entreat you, honour me so much,

As to advance this Jewel, accept, and wear it,

Kind my Lord.

Luc. I am fo far already in your Gifts.

All. So are we all.

[Exe. Lucius and Lucultus.

Serv. My Lord, there are certain Nobles of the Senate newly alighted, and come to vifit you.

Tim. They are fairly welcome.

Flav. I beseech your Honour, vouchsafe me a word, it does concern you near.

Tim. Near! Why then another time I'll hear thee.
I prethee let's be provided to fhew them entertainment.
Flav. I fcarce know how.

Enter another Servant.

Serv. May it please your Honour, Lord Lucius, Out of his free Love, hath prefented to you

Four Milk-white Horfes trapt in Silver.

Tim. I fhall accept them fairly: Let the Prefents Be worthily entertain'd.

Enter a third Servant.

How now? What News?

3 Serv.

3 Serv. Please you, my Lord, that honourable Gentleman, Lord Lucullus, entreats your company to morrow, to hunt with him, and h'as fent your Honour two brace of Grey-hounds.

Tim. I'll hunt with him;

And let them be received, not without fair Reward.
Flav. What will this come to?

He commands us to provide, and give great Gifts, and all out of an empty Coffer:

Nor will he know his Purse, or yield me this,

To thew him what a Beggar his Heart is;
Being of no Power to make his Wishes good,
His Promises fly fo beyond his State,

That what he fpeaks is all in debt, owes for ev'ry word:
He is fo kind, that he now pays intereft for't;
His Land's put to their Books. Well, would I were
Gently put out of Office, e'er I were forc'd:
Happier is he that has no Friend to feed,
Than fuch that do e'en Enemies exceed.
I bleed inwardly for my Lord.

Tim. You do your felves much wrong,
You bate too much of your own Merits.
Here, my Lord, a trifle of our Love.

1 Lord. With more than common thanks I will receive it.

3 Lord. O ha's the very Soul of Bounty.

[Exit.

Tim. And now I remember, my Lord, you gave good words the other day of a Bay Courfer I rode on. 'Tis yours, because you lik'd it.

2 Lord. Oh, I befeech you, pardon me, my Lord, in that.

Tim. You may take my word, my Lord: I know no Man can juftly praife, but what he does affect. I weigh my Friends affection with my own? I'll tell you true, I'll call to you.

All Lords. O none fo welcome.

Tim. I take all, and your feveral Vifitations
So kind to Heart, 'tis not enough to give,

Methinks I could deal Kingdoms to my Friends,
And ne'er be weary. Alcibiades,

H3

Thos