PERSONS REPRESENTED.

TIMON, a noble Athenian.

LUCIUS,

LUCULLUS, lords, and flatterers of Timon.

SEMPRONIUS,

VENTIDIUS, one of Timon's false friends.
APEMANTUS, a churlish philosopher.
ALCIBIADES, an Athenian general.
FLAVIUS, steward to Timon.

HORTENSIUS,

Two Servants of Varro, and the Servant of Isidore; two of Timon's creditors.

CUPID and Maskers. Three Strangers.

Poet, Painter, Jeweller and Merchant.
An old ATHENIAN. A Page. A Fool.

Other Lords, Senators, Officers, Soldiers, Thieves, and Attendants.

TIMON OF ATHENS.

ACT THE FIRST.

SCENE I.

Athens. A Hall in Timon's House.

Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and others at several Doors.

Poet. GOOD day, sir.

Pain.

I am glad you are well.

Poet. I have not seen you long; How goes the

world?

Pain. It wears sir, as it grows.

Ay, that's well known:

Poet.
But what particular rarity? what 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; t'other's a jeweller.
Mer. O, 'tis a worthy lord!

Jew.

Nay, that's most fix'd.. Mer. A most incomparable man; breath'd', as it

were,

To an untirable and continuate' goodness:

He passes.3

Jew.

I have a jewel here.

Inured by constant practice. 2 Continual.
3 i. e. Exceeds, goes beyond common bounds.

Mer. O, pray, let's see't: For the lord Timon, sir? Jew. If he will touch the estimate: But, for thatPoet. When we for recompense have prais'd the vile,

It stains the glory in that happy verse

Which aptly sings the good.

Mer.

'Tis a good form.
[Looking at the Jewel,

you.

Jew. And rich: here is a water, look

Pain. You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedication

To the great lord.

Poet.

A thing slipp'd idly from me. Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes

From whence 'tis nourished: The fire i'the flint
Shows not, till it be struck; our gentle flame
Provokes itself, and, like the current, flies
Each bound it chafes. What have you there?
Pain. A picture, sir.- And when comes your

book forth?

Poet. Upon the heels of my presentment*, sir. Let's see 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 the 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 strife'

Lives in these touches, livelier than life.

4 As soon as my book has been presented to Timon.

'i.e. The contest of art with nature.

Enter certain Senators, and

Pain. How this lord's follow'd!

pass over.

Poet. The senators of Athens:-Happy men!
Pain. Look, more!

Poet. You see this confluence, this great flood of visitors.

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 itself
In a wide sea of wax: no levell'd malice
Infects one comma in the course I hold;
But flies an eagle flight, bold, and forth on,
Leaving no tract 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 slippery creatures, as
Of grave and austere 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 sorts of hearts; yea, from the glass-fac'd flat-

terer 7

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 together. Poet. Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill, Feign'd Fortune to be thron'd: The base o'the

mount

Is rank'd with all deserts, all kind of natures,
That labour on the bosom of this sphere
To propagate their states ": amongst them all,

6

My design does not stop at any particular character. 7 One who shows by reflection the looks of his patron. To advance their conditions of life..

VOL. VIII.

Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady fix'd,
One do I personate 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.

'Tis conceiv'd to scope.

This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks,
With one man beckon'd from the rest below,
Bowing his head against the steepy mount

To climb his happiness, would be well express'd
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 sacred 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 him to the mountain's top,
Even on their knees and hands, let him slip down,
Not one accompanying his declining foot.
Pain. 'Tis common:

A thousand moral paintings I can show

That shall demonstrate these quick blows of fortune
More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well,
To show lord Timon that mean eyes have seen
The foot above the head.

Trumpets sound. Enter TIMON, attended; the Servant of VENTIDIUS talking with him.

Tim.

Imprison'd is he, say you? Ven. Serv. Ay, my good lord: five talents is his

debt;

His means most short, his creditors most strait: