TIMON OF ATHENS.

Ventidius, one of Timon's false friends.

Apemantus, a churlish philosopher.
Alcibiades, an Athenian general.

Flavius, steward to Timon.

Two Servants of Varro, and the Servant of Isidore; two of Timon's creditors.

Cupid, and Maskers. Three Strangers.
Poet, Painter, Jeweller, und Merchant.
An old Athenian. A Page. A Fool.

Phrynia,
Timandra,

}

mistresses to Alcibiades.

Other Lords, Senators, Officers, Soldiers, Thieves,

and Attendants.

Scene, Athens; and the Woods adjoining.

TIMON OF ATHENS.

ACT I.

SCENE I. Athens. A hall in Timon's house.

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

I am glad you are well.

Poet. I have not seen you long; How goes the

world?

Ay, that's well known:

But what particular rarity? what strange,
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; t'other's a jeweller.
Mer. O, 'tis a worthy lord!

Jew.

Nay, that's most fix'd. Mer. A most incomparable man; breath'd*, as it

were,

Inured by constant practice.

To an untirable and continuate* goodness:

He passes t.
Jew.

I have a jewel here.

Mer. O, pray, let's see't: For the lord Timon, sir? Jew. If he will touch the estimate: But, for thatPoet. When we for recompense have prais'd the

vile,

It stains the glory in that happy verse
Which aptly sings the good.

Mer.

"Tis a good form. [Looking at the jewel.

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

Pain. You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedi

cation

To the great lord.

Poet.

A thing slipp'd idly from me. Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes

From whence 'tis nourished: 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?
Pain. A picture, sir.-And when comes your book
forth?

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

Pain.

'Tis a good piece.

Poet. So 'tis: this comes off well and excellent. Pain. Indifferent.

Poet.

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.

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

*For continual.

ti. e. Exceeds, goes beyond common bounds.

As soon as my book has been presented to Timon.

Poet.

I'll say of it,

It tutors nature: artificial strife

Lives in these touches, livelier than life.

Enter certain Senators, and pass over.

Pain. How this lord's follow'd!

Poet. The senators of Athens:-Happy men!
Pain. 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 t, 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 track 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 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 flat-
terers,

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.

Pain.

I saw them speak together.

i, e. The contest of art with nature.

+ My design does not stop at any particular cha

racter.

Open, explain.

One who shows by reflection the looks of his patron.