TIMON of ATHENS.

VOL. V.

A

Timon, a noble Athenian.

Lucius,

Lucullus,

Sempronius,

Lords, and flatterers of Timon.

Ventidius, one of Timon's falfe Friends.

Apemantus, a churlish Philofopher.

Alcibiades, an Athenian General.

Flavius, Steward to Timon.

Two Servants of Varro, and the Servant of Ifidore; two. of
Timon's Creditors.

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

Phrynia,

Timandra, Mistresses to Alcibiades.

Other Lords, Senators, Officers, Soldiers, Thieves, and At

tendants.

SCENE, Athens; and the Woods adjoining.

TIMON of ATHENS.

ACT I.

SCENE I. Athens. A Hall in TIMON'S Houfe. Enter POET, PAINTER, JEWELLER, MERCHANT, and Others, at feveral doors.

POET. Good day, fir.

PAIN. I am glad you 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 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 moft incomparable man; breath'd, as it were,

To an untirable and continuate goodness:

He paffes.

JEW. 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 recompenfe have prais'd the vile, It ftains the glory in that happy verse

Which aptly fings the good.

MER. 'Tis a good form.

[Looking on the jewel.

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

PAIN. You are rapt, fir, in fome work, fome dedication

To the great lord.

POET. A thing flipp'd idly from me.

Our poefy is as a gum, which oozes

From whence 'tis nourished: The fire i'the 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. Apicture, fir.-And when comes your book forth?
POET. Upon the heels of my presentment, fir.
Let's fee 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 ftanding! what a mental power
This eye fhoots forth how big imagination
Moves in this lip! to the dumbness 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 these touches, livelier than life.

Enter certain Senators, and pass over.

PAIN. How this lord's follow'd!

POET. The fenators of Athens Happy men!

PAIN. Look, more!