Puslapio vaizdai

Bowing his head against the steepy mount,
To climb his happiness, 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 whifp'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 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
More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well


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
Periods his comfort.

Tim. Noble Ventidius! well

I am not of that feather, to fhake off

My friend when he moft needs me. I know him
A gentleman that well deferves a help,


Which he fhall have. I'll pay the debt, and free him,
Mef. Your Lordship ever binds him.

Tim. Commend me to him I will fend his ranfom,
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:

O. Ath. Lord Timon, hear me speak.
Tim. Freely, good father.

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.
Tim. Attends he here or no? Lucilius !

Enter Lucilius.


Luc. Here, at your Lordship's fervice.

O. Atb. This fellow here, Lord Timon, this thy creature
By night frequents my houfe. I am a man
That from my firft have been inclin'd to thrift,
And my eftate deferves an heir more rais'd,
Than one which holds a trencher.

Tim. Weil: what further?

O.Ath. One only daughter have I, no kin elfe,
On whom I may confer what I have got :
The maid is fair, o' th' youngest for a bride,
And I have bred her at my dearest cost,
In qualities of the best This man of thine
Attempts her love: I pray thee, noble Lord,
Join with me to forbid him her refort;
My felf have spoke in vain.
Tim. The man is honeft.
0. Ath. Therefore he will obey Timon.
His honefty rewards him in it felf,
It muft not bear my daughter.
Tim. Does fhe love him?

O. Alb.

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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.
O. Ath. If in her marriage my confent be miffing,
I call the Gods to witnefs, I will chufe
Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world,
And difpoffefs her all.

Tim. How fhall fhe be endowed,

If the be mated with an equal husband?

O. Ath. Three talents on the prefent, in future all.
Tim. This gentleman of mine hath ferv'd me long;
To build his fortune I will ftrain a little,
For 'tis a bond in men. Give him thy daughter:
What you beftow, in him I'll counterpoife,
And make him weigh with her.

O. Ath. Moft noble Lord,

Pawn me to this your honour, he is his.

Tim. My hand to thee, mine honour on my promise.
Luc. Humbly I thank your Lordship: never may
That state or fortune fall into my keeping,
Which is not 'own'd' to you!

[Ex. Luc. and O. Ath.
Poet. Vouchfafe my labour, and long live your Lordship!
Tim. I thank you, you fhall hear from me anon:
Go not away. What have you there, my friend?
Pain. A piece of painting, which I do befeech
Your Lordship to accept.

Tim. Painting is welcome.


The 'painted is almoft the natural man:

For fince difhonour trafficks with man's nature
He is but out-fide: pencil'd figures are
Ev'n fuch as they give out. I like your work,
And you fhall find I like it: wait attendance
'Till you hear further from me.

Pain. The gods preferve ye!

Tim. Well fare you, gentleman; Give me your hand,


i ow'd ... old edit. Warb. emend.

2 painting


We must needs dine together: Sir, your jewel
Hath fuffer'd under praife.

Jew. What, my Lord? difpraife?
Tim. A meer fatiety of commendations.
If I should pay you for't as 'tis extoll'd,
It would undo me quite,

Jew. My Lord, 'tis rated

As thofe which fell would give: but you well know,
Things of like value, differing in the owners,

Are by their mafters priz'd; Believe't, dear Lord
You mend the jewel by the wearing it.

Tim. Well mock'd.


Mer. No, my good Lord, he fpeaks the common Which all men fpeak with him.

Tim. Look who comes here.


Enter Apemantus.

Will you be chid ?

Jew. We'll bear it with your Lordship.
Mer. He'll fpare none.

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. Are they not Athenians?
[them not.
Tim. Yes.

Apem. Then I repent not.

Jew. You know me, Apemantus.
Apem. Thou know'ft I do, I call'd thee by thy name.
Tim. Thou art proud, Apemantus.

Apem. Of nothing fo much, as that I am not like Timon
Tim. Whither art going?

Apem. To knock out an honeft Athenian's brains.
Tim. That's a deed thou'lt die for.

Apem. Right, if doing nothing be death by the law.
Tim. How likeft thou this picture, Apemantus?


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. How now, philofopher
Apem. Thou lieft.

Poet. Art thou not one?
Apem. Yes.

Poet. Then I lie not.

Apem. Art not a poet?
Poet. Yes.

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?

Apem. Ay.

Tim. Wherefore?

4 best,


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