Puslapio vaizdai
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Ifidore, J

Ventidius, one of Timon's falfe Friends.
Cupid and Maskers.

Phrynia, Miftreffes to Alcibiades.


Thieves, Senators, Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Mercer and Merchant; with divers Servants and Attendants.

SCENE Athens, and the Woods not far from it.

The hint of part of this play taken from Lucian's Dialogue of Timon.






A Hall in Timon's House.

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



OOD day, Sir.

Pain. I am glad ye are well.

Poet. I have not feen you long, how goes

the world?

Pain. It wears, Sir, as it grows.

Poet. Ay, that's well known.

But what particular rarity? what fo ftrange,
Which manifold Record not matches? fee,
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 moft fixt.

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

To an untirable and continuate goodness.

Jew. I have a jewel here.

Mer. O pray let's fee't.

For the Lord Timon, Sir?

Jew. If he will touch the estimate but for that

A 3


Poet. When we for recompence have prais'd the vile, It ftains the glory in that happy verse

Which aptly fings the good.

Mer. 'Tis a good form.

[Repeating to himself [Looking on the jewel

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

Pain. You're rapt, Sir, in fome work, fome dedication

To the great Lord.

Poet. A thing flipt idly from me.

Our poefie is as a gum, which iffues
From whence 'tis nourished.

The fire i' th' flint

Shews not 'till it be ftruck: our gentle flame

Provokes it felf,

and, like the current, flies

Each bound it 'chafes. What have you there? [forth? Pain. A picture, Sir: 'and when comes your book Poet. Upon the heels of my prefentment, Sir.

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 eye fhoots forth! how big imagination
Moves in this lip! to th' dumbnefs of the gefture
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 thefe 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 vifitors.

1 chafes. ... old edit. Theob. emend.

I have,

2 when

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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 not particularly, but moves it felf
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 see 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 glafs-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 faw them fpeak together.

Poet. I have upon a high and pleasant hill
Feign'd Fortune to be thron'd. The bafe o' th' mount
Is rank'd with all deferts, all kind of natures,
That labour on the bofom of this fphere
To propagate their states; amongst them all,
Whofe eyes are on this fov'reign Lady fixt,
One do I perfonate of Timon's frame,

Whom Fortune with her iv'ry hand wafts to her,
Whofe prefent grace to prefent flaves and fervants
Tranflates his rivals.

Pain. 'Tis conceiv'd 7 to th' fcope:

This throne, this fortune, and this hill, methinks,
With one man becken'd from the reft below

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(a) Anciently they wrote upon waxen tables with an iron fiyle.

4 But
5 creatures,
7 to... old edit. Theob, emend.

6 abhor himself;

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