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TIMON, a noble Athenian.
two flattering Lords.
Apemantus, a cburlis Philosopher.
Sempronius, another flattering Lord.
Alcibiades, an Athenian General.
Flavius, Steward to Timon.
Lucilius, Timon's Servants,
Titus, several Servants to Usurers.
Ventidius, one of Timon's false Friends,
Cupid and Maskers.
Thieves, Senators, Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Mercer and
Merchant; with divers Servants and Attendants.
SCENE Athens, and the Woods not far from it.
The bint of part of this play taken from Lucian's Dialogue of Timon.
A Hall in Timon's House. Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and Mercer,
at several doors.
OOD day, Sir.
Pain. I am glad ye are well.
Peet. I have not seen you long, how goes
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 ? 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 most 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 stains the glory in that happy verse Which aptly sings the good. [Repeating to kimself.
Mer. 'Tis a good form. (Looking on the jewel, Jew. And rich; here is a water, look ye.
Pain. You're rapt, Sir, in some work, some dedication To the great Lord.
Poet. A thing Nipt idly from me. Our poesie is as a gum, which ifsues From whence 'tis nourished. The fire i' th' Aint Shews not 'till it be struck : our gentle flame Provokes it felf, and, like the current, fies Each bound it "/chafes. What have you there? [forth?
Pain. A picture, Sir :-- and when comes your book
Poet. Upon the heels of my presentment, Sir. Let's tee your piece.
Pain. 'Tis a good piece.
Poet. So 'tis,
This comes off well and excellent.
Poet. Admirable ! how this grace
Speaks his own itanding! 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'll say 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 senators of Athens! happy } 'man!"
Pain. Look, more!
Poet. You see this confluence, this great food of visitors.
I have, I chases. ...old edit. Theob. emend, 2 when 3 men! ...old edit. Theob. emend.
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
Halos not particularly, but moves it self
In a wide sea of wax; no levellid malice
Infects one comma in the course I hold;
+'it flies an eagle-fight, bold and forth on,
Leaving no track behind.
Pain. How shall I understand you?
Poet. I'll unbolt to you.
You see how all conditions, how all minds,
As well of glib and Nipp'ry s'natures, as
Of grave and austere quality, tender down
Their service to Lord Timon : his large fortune
Upon his good and gracious nature hanging,
Subdues and properties to his love and tendance
All sorts of hearts , yea, from the glafs-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
Most rich in Timon's nod.
Pain. I saw them speak together.
Poet. I have upon a high and pleasant hill
Feign's Fortune to be thron'd. The base o'th' mount
Is rank'd with all deserts, all kind of natures,
That labour on the bosom of this sphere
To propagate their states ; amongit them all,
Whoíe eyes are on this fou'reign Lady fixt,
One do i personate of Timon's frame,
Whom Fortune with her iv'ry hand wafts to her,
Whole present grace to present Naves and servants
Translates his rivals.
Pain. 'Tis conceiv'd ?/ to th' scope :
This throne, this fortune, and this hill, methinks,
With one man becken'd from the rest below
(a) Anciently they wrote upon waxen tables with an iron flylo.