Enter certain Senators, and pass over.
Pain. How this lord's follow'd!
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,

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

8 To advance their conditions of life. VOL. VIII.

6

с

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 :

Your honourable letter he desires
To those 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 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. Tim. Commend me to him: I will send his ran

some; And, being enfranchis’d, bid him come to me: 'Tis not enough to help the feeble up, But to support him after. - Fare

you

well. Ven. Serv. All happiness to your honour! [Exit.

Enter an old Athenian.

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 be-

fore 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:

a

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.
Tim.

The man is honest.
Old Ath. Therefore he will be, Timon:
His honesty rewards him in itself,
It must not bear my daughter.
Tim.

Does she love him? Old Ath. She is

young,

and

apt:
Our own precedent passions do instruct us
What levity's in youth.

Tim. [TO LUCILIUS.] Love you the maid ?
Luc. Ay, my good lord, and she accepts of it.
Old Ath. If in her marriage my consent be

missing,
I call the gods to witness, I will choose
Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world,
And dispossess her all.
Tim.

How shall she be endow'd,
If she be mated with an equal husband ?
Old Ath. Three talents, on the present ; in future,

all. Tim. This gentleman of mine hath serv'd me 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. Old Ath.

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 ow'd to you !

[Exeunt LUCILIUS and old Athenian.

a

Go not away

hand;

Poet. Vouchsafe my labour, and long live your

lordship! Tim. I thank you; you shall hear from me anon:

What have you there, my friend ?
Pain. A piece of painting, which I do beseech
Your lordship to accept.
Tim.

Painting is welcome.
The painting is almost the natural man ;
For since dishonour trafficks with man's nature,
He is but outside: These pencil'd figures are
Even such as they give out. I like your work ;
And
you

shall find, I like it : wait attendance,
Till you hear further from me.
Pain.

The gods preserve you. Tim. Well fare you, gentlemen : Give me your We must needs dine together. Sir, your jewel Hath suffer'd under praise. Jew.

What, my lord ? dispraise ? Tim. A meer satiety of commendations. If I should pay you for't as 'tis extoll’d, It would unclew me quite. Jew.

My lord, 'tis rated As those, which sell, would give : But you well

know, Things of like value, differing in the owners, Are prized by their masters; believe't, dear lord, You mend the jewel by wearing it. Tim.

Well mock'd. Mer. No, my good lord; he speaks the common

tongue, Which all men speak with him.

Tim. Look, who comes here? Will you be chid ?

9

Enter APEMANTUS.
Jew. We will bear, with your lordship.
Mer.

He'll spare none; 9 Ruin,