TIMON

OF

ATHENS.

ACTI.

SCENE I.

SCENE A Hall in Timon's Houfe.

Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and Mer

cer, at feveral Doors.

POET.

OOD Day, Sir.

Pain. I am glad ye are well.

Poet. I have not seen 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 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, th'other's a Jeweller.

Mer. Oh 'tis a worthy Lord.

Jew. Nay, that's most fixt.

Mer. A most incomparable Man, breath'd as it were,

To an untirable and continuate Goodness:

He passes

Jew. I have a Jewel here.

Mer. O pray let's see't. For the Lord Timon, Sir ?
Jew. If he will touch the Eftimate, but for that

Poet. When we for recompence have prais'd the vild,

It stains the Glory in that happy Verse,

Which aptly fings the good.

Mer. 'Tis a good form.

Jew. And rich; here is Water, look ye.

Pain. You are rapt, Sir, in some Work, some Dedication

to the great Lord.

Poet. A thing flipt idly from me.

Our Poefie is as a Gown, which uses

From whence 'tis nourisht: The fire i'th' Flint
Shews not 'till it be struck: Our gentle Flame
Provokes it self, and like the current flies

Each bound it chases. What have you there?

Pain. A Picture, Sir: 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.
Pain. Indifferent.

Poet. Admirable! How this Grace

Speaks his own standing; what a mental Power
This Eye shoots 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 will say of it,

It tutors Nature, artificial Strife

Lives in these touches livelier than Life.

Enter certain Senators,

Pain. How this Lord is followed!

Poet.

2

Poet. The Senators of Athens, happy Men.
Pain. Look, more.

Poet. You fee this confluence, this great flood of Visiters,

+

I have, in this rough Work, shap'd out a Man,

Whom this beneath World doth embrace and hug

With amplest Entertainment: My free drift
Halts not particularly, but moves it felf
In a wide Sea of Wax, no levell'd Malice
Infects one Comma in the Course I hold,

But lies an Eagle flight, bold, and forth on,

Leaving no Tract behind.

Pain. How shall I understand you?
Poet. I will uobolt to you.

You fee how all Conditions, how all Minds,
As well of glib and flipp'ry Creatures, as
Of grave and auftere Quality, tender down
Their Services 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 plass-fac'd Flatterer
To Apemantus, that few things loves better
Than to abhor himself, even he drops down
The Knee before him, and returns in peace
Most rich in Timon's Nod.

Pain. I saw them speak togett er.

Poer. Sir, 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 bosom of this Sphere,
To propagate their States; amongst them all,
Whofe Eyes are on this Sovereign Lady fixt,
One do I perfonate of Lord Timon's frame,
Whom Fortune with her Ivory Hand wafts to her,
Whose present Grace, to present Slaves and Servants
Translates his Rivals.

Pain. 'Ts conceiv'd, to scope

This Throne, this Fortune, and this Hill, methinks
With one Man beckn'd fom the rest below,
Bowing his Head against the steepy Mount,

To

To climb his Happiness, would be well exprest
In our Condition,

Poet. Nay, Sir, but hear me on:
All those which were his Fellows but of late,
Some better than his Value; on the moment
Follow his strides, his Lobbies fill with tendance,
Rain sacrificial Whisperings 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 Mood

Spurns down her late beloved; all his Dependants,
Which labour'd after him to the Mountain's top,
Even on their Knees and Hands, let him flip down,
Not one accompanying his declining Foot.

Pain. 'Tis common:

A thousand moral Paintings I can shew,
That shall demonstrate these quick blows of Fortune,
More pregnantly than Words. Yet you do well,
To shew Lord Timon, that mean Eyes have feen,
The Foot above the Head.

Trumpets found. Enter Lord Timon addressing himself cour

teously to every Suitor.

[To a Messenger.

Tim. Imprisoned is he, say you?
Mes. Ay, my good Lord, five Talents is his Debr,
His means most short, his Creditors most straight:
Your honourable Letter he defires

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

Tim. Noble Ventidius! well

I am not of that Feather, to shake off
My Friend when he most needs me. I do know him
A Gentleman that well deferves a help,
Which he shall have. I'll pay the Debt, and free him.
Mes. Your Lordship ever binds him.
Tim. Commend me to him, I will fend his Ranfom,

And being Enfranchized, bid him come to me;
'Tis not enough to help the feeble up,
But to support him after. Fare you well.

Mes. All Happiness to your Honour.

[Exit.

Enter

:

Enter an Old Athenian.

0. Ath. Lord Timon, hear me speak. Tim. Freely, good Father.

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

Tim. I have so: What of him?

0. Ath. Most Noble Timon, call the Man before thee.

Tim. Attends he here or no? Lucilius.

Enter Lucilius.

Lucil. Here, at your Lordship's Service.

0. Ath. This Fellow here, Lord Timon, this thy Creature

By Night frequents my House. I am a Man
That from my first have been inclin'd to Thrift,
And my Estate deserves an Heir more rais'd,
Than one which holds a Trencher.

Tim: Well: What further ?

0. Ath. One only Daughter have I, no Kin else,

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 honest.

O. Ath. Therefore he will be, Timon,

His honesty rewards him in it felf,
It must not bear my Daughter.
Tim. Does the love him?

O. Ath. She is young, and apt:
Our own precedent Paffions do instruct us,
What levity's in Youth.

Tim. Love you the Maid?

Lucil. Ay, my good Lord, and the accepts of it.
O. Ath. If in her Marriage my consent be missing,
I call the Gods to witness, I will chufe
Mine Heir from forth the Beggars of the World,
And dispossess her al'.

Tim. How shall she be endowed,

If the be mated with an equal Husband?
O. Ath. Three Talents on the present, in future all.
Tim. This Gentleman of mine hath ferv'd me long;

To