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Bowing his head against the steepy mount,
To climb his happiness, would be well exprest
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 strides, his lobbies fill with tendance,
Rain sacrificial 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 mood
Spurns down her late belov'd, all his dependants
(Which labour'd after to the mountain's top,
Èv'n on their knees and hands,) let him Nip 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 'men's eyes have seen
The foot above the head.
S CEN E II.
Trumpets found. Enter Timon addresjing himself courtcously
to every Suitor. Tim. Imprison d is he, say you? [To a Messenger.
Mef. Ay, my good Lord, five talents is his debt,
His means most short, his creditors most straight :
Your honourable letter he desires
To thole 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 know him
A gentleman that well deserves a helf,
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 send his ransom,
And being enfranchiz'd, bid him come to me;
'Tis not enough to help the feeble up,
But to support him after. Fare you well.
Mef. All happiness to your Honour.
Enter an old Athenian:
0. Atb. Lord Timon, hear me speak.
Tim. Freely, good father.
O. Ath. Thou hast a servant nam'd Lucilius,
Tim. I have so : what of him?
O. Ab. Most noble Timon, call the man before thee.
Tim, Attends he here or no? Lucilius !
Luc. Here, at your Lordship's service.
O. 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 co thrift,
And my estate deserves an heir more rais'd,
Than one which holds a trencher.
Tim. Weil: what further?
0. Atb. 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 resort;
My self have spoke in vain.
Tim. The man is honest.
0. Ath. Therefore he will 9 obey' Timon.
His honesty rewards him in it self,
It must not bear my daughter.
Tim. Does she love him?
O. Aib. She is young, and apt:
Our precedent paffions do instruct us,
What levity's in youth.
Tim. Love you the maid?
Luc. Ay, my good Lord, and she accepts of it.
O. Atb. If in her marriage my consent be missing,
I call the Gods to witness, I will chuse
Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world,
And dispossess her all.
Tim. How shall she be endowed,
If she be mated with an equal husband ?
O. Ath. Three talents on the present, in future all.
Tim. This gentleman of mine hath serv'd mc long;
To build his fortune I will strain a little,
For 'tis a bond in men. Give him thy daughter :
What you bestow, in him I'll counterpoise,
And make him weigh with her.
O. Alb. Most noble Lord,
Pawn me to this your honour, she 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.Vouchsafe my labour, and long live your Lordship!
Tim. I thank you, you shall hear from me anon : Go not away. What have you there, my friend?
Pain. A piece of painting, which I do beseech
Your Lordhip to accept.
Tim. Painting is welcome.
The painted' is almost the natural man:
For since dishonour trafficks with man's nature
He is but out-side: pencil'd figures are
E.v'n such as they give out. I like your work,
fall find I like it: wait attendance 'Till you hear further from me.
Pain. The gods preserve ye!
Tim. Well fare you, gentleman; Give me your hand,
Wc I ow'd ...old edit. Warb. emend, 2 painting
We must needs dine together : Sir, your jewel
Hath suffer'd under praise.
Jeso. What, my Lord ? dispraise ?
Tim. A meer satiety of commendations.
If I Dould pay you for't as ’tis excollid,
It would undo me quite,
Jew. My Lord, 'tis rated
As those which fell would give : but you well know,
Things of like value, differing in the owners,
Are by their masters priz'd ; Believe't, dear Lord
You mend the jewel by the wearing it.
Tim. Well mock'd.
Mer. No, my good Lord, he speaks the common
Which all men speak wich him.
Tim. Look who comes here.
SCE N E III.
Will you be chid ?
Jewo. We'll bear it with your Lordship.
Mer. He'll spare none.
Tim. Good-morrow to chee, gentle Apemantus !
Apem. 'Till I be gentle, stay for thy good-morrow ; When 3 'I am Timon's dog, and these knaves honest.
Tim. Why dost thou call them knaves ? thou know'st
Apem. Are they not Athenians ?
Apem. Then I repent not.
Jew. You know me, Apemantus.
Apem. Thou know'st I do, I calld 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 honest Athenian's brains.
Tim. That's a deed thou'lt die for.
Apem. Right, if doing nothing be death by the law.
Tim. How likest thou this picture, Apemantus ?
Apem. 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 the, if I be a dog?
Tim. Wilt dine with me, Apemantus ?
Apem. No, I eat not Lords.
Tim. If thou should'ft, thou’dst anger Ladies.
Apem. O, they eat Lords, so they come by great bellies.
Tim. That's a lascivious apprehension.
Apem. So thou apprehend'st it. Take it for thy labour.
Tim. How dost thou like this jewel, Apemantus ?
Apem. Not so well as plain-dealing, which will not cost a man a doit.
Tim. What dost thou think 'tis worth?
Apem. Not worth my thinking - How now, poet?
Poet. How now, philosopher?
Apem. Thou lieft.
Poet. Art thou not one?
Poes. Then I lie not.
Apem. Art not a poet ?
Apen. Then thou lieft: look in thy last 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 fattered is worthy o’th flatterer, Heav'ns, that I were a Lord !
Tim. What would'It do then, Apemantus ?
Apem. Ev’n as Apemantus does now, have a Lord with
Tim. What, thy self?
Tim. Wherefore ?