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Poet.

world?

Pain. It wears, sir, as it grows. 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 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 continuate2 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 estimate: But, for that-
Poet. 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. Jew. And rich: here is a water, look you." Pain. You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedication To the great lord. Poet.

A thing slipp'd idly from me.

(1) Inured by constant practice. (2) For continual.

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?

Poel. 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.

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(3) i. e. Exceeds, goes beyond common bounds. character.

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Leaving no track behind.

Pain. How shall I understand you? Poet.

Tim. Commend me to him: I will send his ran

som;

I'll unbolt' to you. And, being enfranchis'd, bid him come to me:
'Tis not enongh to help the feeble up,
But to support him after.-Fare you well.
Ven. Serv. All happiness to your honour! [Ex.
Enter an old Athenian.

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,2

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,
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 stirrup, 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:
Your honourable letter he desires

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

Tim.

Noble Ventidius! Well;

1 am not of that feather, to shake off My friend when he must need me. I do know him A gentleman, that well deserves a help,

Which he shall have: I'll pay the debt, and free him.

Ven. Serv. Your lordship ever binds him.

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Old Ath. Lord Timon, hear me speak.

Tim.
Freely, good father.
Old Ath. Thou hast a servant nam'd Lucilius.
Tim. I have so: what of him?
Old Ath. Most noble Timon, call the man before
thee.

Tim. Attends he here, or no?-Lucilius!

Enter Lucilius.

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
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?
Old Ath. One only daughter have I, no kin else,
On whom I may confer what I have got:
The maid is fair, o'the 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 pr'ythee, noble lord,
Join with me to forbid him her resort;
Myself have spoke in vain.

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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 of fortune fall into my keeping, Which is not ow'd to you!

[Exeunt Lucilius and old Athenian. 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?

(3) To advance their conditions of life.
(4) Whisperings of officious servility.
(5) Inhale. (6) i. e. Inferior spectators.

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Tim. Thou art proud Apemantus.

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"Tis Alcibiades, and Some twenty horse, all of companionship. Tim. Pray, entertain them; give them guide to [Exeunt some attendants You must needs dine with me :-Go not you hence Till I have thank'd you; and, when dinner's done, Show me this piece.-I am joyful of your sights.Enter Alcibiades, with his company. Most welcome, sir! [They salute. Apem.

So, so; there!

Apem. Of nothing so much, as that I am not Aches contract and starve your supple joints!

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. The best, 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. You are a dog.

Apem. Thy mother's of my generation; What's she, if I be a dog?

Tim. Wilt dine with me, Apemantus?
Apem. No; I eat not lords.

Tim. An thou should'st, thou'dst anger ladies. Apem. O, they eat lords; so they come by great belles.

Tim. That's a lascivious apprehension.

Apem. So thou apprehend'st it: Take it for thy labour.

(1) Pictures have no hypocrisy; they are what they profess to be.

(2) To unclew a man, is to draw out the whole mass of his fortunes.

That there should be small love 'mongst these sweet knaves,

And all this court'sy! The strain of man's bred out Into baboon and monkey.*

Alcib. Sir, you have sav'd my longing, and I feed Most hungrily on your sight.

Tim. Right welcome, sir: Ere we depart, we'll share a bounteous time In different pleasures. Pray you, let us in. [Exeunt all but Apemantus.

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