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Bowing his head against the steepy mount,
Poet. Nay, but hear me on:
All those which were his fellows but of late,
Pain. Ay marry, what of these?
Poet. When Fortune in her fhift 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 fhew,
That shall demonftrate thefe quick blows of fortune
To fhew Lord Timon, that
'men's' eyes have feen
The foot above the head.
Trumpets found. Enter Timon addreffing bimfelf courteously to every Suitor.
Tim. Imprifon'd is he, fay you? [To a Meffenger. Mef. Ay, my good Lord, five talents is his debt, His means moft fhort, his creditors moft ftraight: Your honourable letter he defires
To thofe have fhut him up, which failing to him
Tim. Noble Ventidius! well
I am not of that feather, to fhake off
My friend when he moft needs me. I know him
Which he fhall have. I'll pay the debt, and free him,
Tim. Commend me to him I will fend his ranfom,
Enter an old Athenian:
O. Ath. Lord Timon, hear me speak.
O. Ath. Thou haft a fervant nam'd Lucilius.
Tim. I have fo: what of him?
O. Atb. Most noble Timon, call the man before thee.
Luc. Here, at your Lordship's fervice.
O. Atb. This fellow here, Lord Timon, this thy creature
Tim. Weil: what further?
O.Ath. One only daughter have I, no kin elfe,
O. Ath. She is young, and apt: Our precedent paffions do inftruct us, What levity's in youth.
Tim. Love you the maid?
Luc. Ay, my good Lord, and fhe accepts of it.
Tim. How fhall fhe be endowed,
If the be mated with an equal husband?
O. Ath. Three talents on the prefent, in future all.
O. Ath. Moft noble Lord,
Pawn me to this your honour, he is his.
Tim. My hand to thee, mine honour on my promise.
[Ex. Luc. and O. Ath.
Tim. Painting is welcome.
The 'painted is almoft the natural man:
For fince difhonour trafficks with man's nature
Pain. The gods preferve ye!
Tim. Well fare you, gentleman; Give me your hand,
i ow'd ... old edit. Warb. emend.
We must needs dine together: Sir, your jewel
Jew. What, my Lord? difpraife?
Jew. My Lord, 'tis rated
As thofe which fell would give: but you well know,
Are by their mafters priz'd; Believe't, dear Lord
Tim. Well mock'd.
Mer. No, my good Lord, he fpeaks the common Which all men fpeak with him.
Tim. Look who comes here.
Will you be chid ?
Jew. We'll bear it with your Lordship.
Tim. Good-morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus! Apem. 'Till I be gentle, ftay for thy good-morrow; When I am Timon's dog, and thefe knaves honest.
Tim. Why doft thou call them knaves? thou know'ft
Apem. Then I repent not.
Jew. You know me, Apemantus.
Apem. Of nothing fo much, as that I am not like Timon
Apem. To knock out an honeft Athenian's brains.
Apem. Right, if doing nothing be death by the law.
3 thou art
Apem. The 'better, for the innocence.
Tim. Wrought he not well that painted it?
Apem. He wrought better that made the painter, and yet he's but a filthy piece of work.
Pain. Y'are a dog.
Apem. Thy mother's of my generation: what's fhe, if I be a dog?
Tim. Wilt dine with me, Apemantus ?
Apem. No, I eat not Lords.
Tim. If thou fhould'ft, thou'dft anger Ladies.
Apem. O, they eat Lords, fo they come by great bellies. Tim. That's a lafcivious apprehenfion.
Apem. So thou apprehend'ft it. Take it for thy labour. Tim. How doft thou like this jewel, Apemantus? Apem. Not fo well as plain-dealing, which will not coft a man a doit.
Tim. What doft thou think 'tis worth?
Apem. Not worth my thinking
Poet. Art thou not one?
Poet. Then I lie not.
Apem. Art not a poet?
How now, poet?
Apem. Then thou lieft: look in thy laft work, where thou haft feign'd him a worthy fellow.
Poet. That's not feign'd, he is fo.
Apem. Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay thee for thy labour. He that loves to be flattered is worthy o' th' flatterer. Heav'ns, that I were a Lord!
Tim. What would'ft do then, Apemantus?
Apem. Ev'n as Apemantus does now, hate a Lord with my heart.
Tim. What, thy felf?