The Life of Timon of Athens. ACT FIRST. Scene I. Athens. A hall in Timon's house. Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and others, Poet. Good day, sir. Pain. I am glad you're well. Poet. I have not seen you long: how goes the world? Poet. Ay, that's well known: But what particular rarity? what strange, Which manifold record not matches? See, Magic of bounty! all these spirits thy power Hath conjured 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 fix'd. Mer. A most incomparable man, breathed, as it were, Jew. I have a jewel here ΙΟ Mer. O, pray, let's see't: for the Lord Timon, sir? praised the vile, THE LIFE OF It stains the glory in that happy verse Which aptly sings the good.' Mer. [Looking on the jewel] 'Tis a good form. Jew. And rich: here is a water, look ye. Pain. You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedication Poet. To the great lord. A thing slipp'd idly from me. Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes From whence 'tis nourish'd: the fire i' the flint Each bound it chafes. What have you there? Pain. Let's see your piece. 'Tis a good piece. Poet. So 'tis : this comes off well and excellent. Poet. Admirable how this grace Speaks his own standing! what a mental power Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life. Poet. Here is a touch; is't good? I will say of it, It tutors nature: artificial strife Lives in these touches, livelier than life. Enter certain Senators, and pass over. Pain. How this lord is follow'd! Poet. The senators of Athens: happy man! 20 30 40 Pain. Look, moe! Poet. You see this confluence, this great flood of visitors. I have, in this rough work, shaped out a man, Pain. How shall I understand you? Poet. 50 I will unbolt to you. 60 Pain. I saw them speak together. Feign'd Fortune to be throned: the base o' the mount Pain. Poet. Whose present grace to present slaves and servants 'Tis conceived to scope. This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks, To climb his happiness, would be well express'd 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, 80 Rain sacrificial whisperings in his ear, Make sacred even his stirrup, and through him Pain. Pain. 'Tis common: A thousand moral paintings I can show, 90 That shall demonstrate these quick blows of Fortune's Trumpets sound. Enter Lord Timon, addressing himself courteously to every suitor; a Messenger from Ventidius talking with him; Lucilius and other servants following. Imprison'd is he, say you? Tim. Mess. Ay, my good lord: five talents is his debt; Tim. To those have shut him up; which failing, Noble Ventidius! Well, I am not of that feather to shake off 100 My friend when he must need me. I do know him Which he shall have: I'll pay the debt and free him. Mess. Your lordship ever binds him. Tim. Commend me to him: and I will send his ransom; But to support him after. Fare you well. Enter an old Athenian. Old Ath. Lord Timon, hear me speak. Tim. [Exit. Freely, good father. I10 Old Ath. Thou hast a servant named Lucilius. Tim. I have so: what of him? Old Ath. Most noble Timon, call the man before thee. Luc. Here, at your lordship's service. Old Ath. This fellow here, Lord Timon, this thy creature, By night frequents my house. I am a man Tim. That from my first have been inclined to thrift, And my estate deserves an heir more raised Than one which holds a trencher. Well, what further? 120. Old Ath. One only daughter have I, no kin else, |