Poet.
Good day, Sir.

Pain.
I am glad y' are well.

Poet.
I have not seen you long; how goes the world?

Pain.
It wears, Sir, as it goes.

Poet.
Ay, that's well known.
But what particular rarity? what so 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; th' other's a jeweller.

Mer.
O 'tis a worthy lord!

Jew.
Nay, that's most fixt.

Mer.
A most incomparable man, breath'd as it were

To an untirable and continuate 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 recompence have prais'd the vile,
It stains the glory in that happy verse
Which aptly sings the good.

Mer.
'Tis a good form. [Looking on the jewel.

Jew.
And rich; here is a water, look ye.

Pain.
You're rapt, Sir, in some Work, some dedication
To the great lord.

Poet.
A thing slipt idly from me.
Our Poesie is as a Gum, which issues
From whence 'tis nourished. The fire i'th' flint
Shews not, 'till it be struck: our gentle flame
Provokes it self,—and like the current flies
Each Bound it chafes. What have you there?(1) ^note

Pain.
A picture, Sir:—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.
Indiff'rent.

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 th' 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 those touches, livelier than life. Enter certain Senators.

Pain.
How this lord is followed!

Poet.
The Senators of Athens! happy man!(2) ^note

Pain.
Look, more!

Poet.
You see this confluence, this great flood of visiters.
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 particular, 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 slipp'ry creatures, as
Of grave and austere quality, tender down
Their Service 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 flatterer
To Apemantus, that few things loves better
Than to abhor himself; ev'n he drops down
The knee before him, and returns in peace
Most rich in Timon's nod.

Pain.
I saw them speak together.

Poet.
I have upon a high and pleasant hill
Feign'd Fortune to be thron'd. The Base o'th' 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 sov'reign lady fixt,
One do I personate of Timon's frame,
Whom Fortune with her iv'ry hand wafts to her,
Whose present grace to present slaves and servants
Translates his rivals.

Pain.
'Tis conceiv'd to th' Scope.(3) ^note

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 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 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 shew,
That shall demonstrate these quick blows of fortune

More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well
To shew lord Timon, that mean eyes have seen
The foot above the head. Trumpets sound. Enter Timon, addressing himself courteously to every suitor.

Tim.
Imprison'd is he, say you? [To a Messenger.

Mes.
Ay, my good lord; five talents is his debt,
His means most short, his creditors most straight:
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 most needs me. I do know him
A gentleman that well deserves a help,
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.

Mes.
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 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'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.

Old Ath.
Therefore he will be, Timon.(4) ^note
His honesty rewards him in it self,
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.
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 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?

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 Luc. 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?

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 out-side: pencil'd figures are
Ev'n 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 ye!

Tim.
Well fare you, gentleman; Give me your hand,
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 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 tongue,
Which all men speak with him.

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

Jew.
We'll bear it with your lordship.

Mer.
He'll spare none.

Tim.
Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus!

Apem.
'Till I be gentle, stay for thy good morrow;
When thou art Timon's dog, and these knaves honest.

Tim.

Why dost thou call them knaves, thou know'st them not?

Apem.

Are they not Athenians?

Tim.

Yes.

Apem.

Then I repent not.

Jew.

You know me, Apemantus.

Apem.

Thou know'st I do, I call'd thee by thy name.

Tim.

Thou art proud, Apemantus.

Apem.

Of nothing so 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 lik'st 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.

Y'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.

If thou should'st, 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 liest.

Poet.

Art thou not one?

Apem.

Yes.

Poet.

Then I lie not.

Apem.

Art not a poet?

Poet.

Yes.

Apem.

Then thou liest: look in thy last work, where thou hast feign'd him a worthy fellow.

Poet.

That's not feign'd, he is so.

Apem.

Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay thee for thy labour. He, that loves to be flattered, is worthy o'th' flatterer. Heav'ns, that I were a lord!

Tim.

What would'st do then, Apemantus?

Apem.

Ev'n as Apemantus does now, hate a lord with my heart.

Tim.

What, thy self?

Apem.

Ay.

Tim.

Wherefore?

Apem.
That I had so hungry a wit, to be a lord.—(5) ^note

Art thou not a Merchant?

Mer.
Ay, Apemantus.

Apem.
Traffick confound thee, if the Gods will not!

Mer.
If Traffick do it, the Gods do it.

Apem.
Traffick's thy God, and thy God confound thee! Trumpets sound. Enter a messenger.

Tim.
What trumpet's that?

Mes.
'Tis Alcibiades, and some twenty horse
All of companionship.

Tim.
Pray, entertain them, give them guide to us;
You must needs dine with me: go not you hence,
'Till I have thankt you; and when dinner's done,
Shew me this piece. I'm joyful of your sights. Enter Alcibiades with the rest.
Most welcome, Sir! [Bowing and embracing.

Apem.

So, so! Aches contract, and starve your supple joints! that there should be small love amongst these sweet knaves, and all this courtesie! the strain of man's bred out into baboon and monkey.

Alc.
You have sav'd my longing, and I feed

Most hungerly on your sight.

Tim.
Right welcome, Sir.
E're we do part, we'll share a bounteous time(6) ^note
In different pleasures. Pray you, let us in. [Exeunt. Manet Apemantus. Enter Lucius and Lucullus.

Luc.

What time a day is't, Apemantus?

Apem.

Time to be honest.

Luc.

That time serves still.

Apem.

The most accursed thou, that still omitt'st it.

Lucul.

Thou art going to lord Timon's feast.

Apem.

Ay, to see meat fill knaves, and wine heat fools.

Lucul.

Fare thee well, fare thee well.

Apem.

Thou art a fool to bid me farewel twice.

Lucul.

Why, Apemantus?

Apem.

Thou should'st have kept one to thy self, for I mean to give thee none.

Luc.

Hang thy self.

Apem.

No, I will do nothing at thy bidding: make thy requests to thy friend.

Lucul.

Away, unpeaceable dog, or—I'll spurn thee hence.

Apem.

I will fly, like a dog, the heels o'th' ass.

Luc.
He's opposite to humanity.
Come, shall we in, and taste lord Timon's bounty?
He, sure, outgoes the very heart of kindness.

Lucul.
He pours it out. Plutus, the God of gold,
Is but his Steward: no meed but he repays
Seven-fold above it self; no gift to him,
But breeds the giver a Return exceeding
All use of quittance.

Luc.
The noblest mind he carries,
That ever govern'd man.

Lucul.
Long may he live in fortunes! shall we in?

Luc.
I'll keep you company. [Exeunt.

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