DRAMATIS PERSONE.

TIMON, a noble Athenian.

LUCIUS,

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LUCULLUS,
APEMANTUS, a churlish Philofopher.
SEMPRONIUS, another flattering Lord.
ALCIBIADES, an Athenian General.
FLAVIUS, Steward to Timon.

Timon's Servants.

FLAMINIUS,

LUCILIUS,
SERVILIUS,

two flattering Lords.

CAPHIS,

VARRO,

PHILOTAS,

TITUS,

LUCIUS,
HORTENSIUS,

ISIODORE,

VENTIDIUS, one of Timon's falfe Friends.
CUPID and Mafkers.

PHRYNIA,

TIMANDRA,

feveral Servants to Ufurers.

Mistresses 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.

TIMON

TIMON of ATHENS.

ACT I.

SCENE I

A Hall in Timon's House.

Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and Mercer,

at feveral doors. OOD day, Sir.

Poet.

Pain. I am glad ye are well.

G

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 so 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 most 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-
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.

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? Pain. A picture, Sir:-and when comes your book forth? Poet. Upon the heels of my presentment, Sir. Let's fee your piece.

Pain. 'Tis a good piece.

Poet. So 'tis,

This comes off well and excellent.

[Repeating to bimfelf. [Looking on the jewel.

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' dumbness of the gesture
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.

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 vifiters.

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

* Anciently they wrote upon waxen tables with an iron ftyle.

Infects

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 fee how all conditions, how all minds,
As well of glib and flipp'ry natures, as
Of grave and auftere quality, tender down
Their fervice to Lord Timen: 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 glass-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 base o'th' mount Is rank'd with all deferts, all kind of natures, That labour on the bofom of this fphere To propagate their ftates; 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, Whose prefent grace to prefent flaves and fervants Tranflates his rivals.

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

This throne, this fortune, and this hill, methinks,
With one man becken'd from the reft below
Bowing his head against the steepy mount,
To climb his happinefs, would be well expreft
In our condition.

Poet. Nay, but hear me on:

All those which were his fellows but of late,
Some better than his value, on the moment
Follow his ftrides, his lobbies fill with tendance,
Rain facrificial whisp'rings in his ear,
Make facred even his stirrop, and through him
Drink the free air,

Pain. Ay, marry, what of these?

Poet. When Fortune in her shift and change of moo
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 these quick blows of fortune
More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well
To fhew Lord Timon, that men's eyes have seen
The foot above the head.

SCENE II.

Trumpets found. Enter Timon addreffing bimself courteously to every Suitor.

Tim. Imprifon'd is he,, fay you? [To a Meflenger.
Mef. Ay, my good Lord, five talents is his debt,
His means moft fhort, his creditors most straight:
Your honourable letter he defires

To those have shut him up, which failing to him
Periods his comfort.

I know him

Tim. Noble Ventidius! well
I am not of that feather, to shake off
My friend when he most needs me.
A gentleman that well deferves a help,
Which he fhall have. I'll pay the debt, and free him
Mef. Your Lordfhip ever binds him.

Tim. Commend me to him, I will fend his rapfom,
And being enfranchiz'd, bid him come to me,
'Tis not enough to help the feeble up,
But to fupport him after. Fare you well.
Mef. All happiness to your Honour.
Enter an old Athenian.

0. Ath. Lord Timon, hear me fpeak. Tim. Freely, good father.

0. Ath. Thou haft a fervant nam'd Lucilius.

[Exit.

Tim. I have fo: what of him?

0. Ath. Moft noble Timon, call the man before thee.. Tim. Attends he here or no? Lucilius!

4

Exter