Poet.
Good day, sir^{3 note}

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.

Poet.
Ay, that's well known: ? ^note

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; the other's a jeweller.

Mer.
O, 'tis a worthy lord!

Jew.
Nay, that's most fix'd.

Mer.
A most incomparable man; ^{5 note}

Jew.
I have a jewel here.

Mer.
O, pray, let's see't: For the lord Timon, sir?

Jew.
If he will ^{7 note}touch the estimate: But, for that—

Poet.
^{8 note}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 you.

Pain.
You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedication
To the great lord.

Poet.
A thing slipt idly from me.
Our poesy is as a gum, ^{9 note}

Each bound it chafes. What have you there?

Pain.
A picture, sir. When comes your book forth?

Poet.
^{2 note}Upon the heels of my presentment^{3 note}

Pain.
'Tis a good piece.

Poet.
So 'tis: ^{4 note}

Pain.
Indifferent.

Poet.
Admirable: ^{5 note}

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. 9Q0975

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: ^{6 note}

Lives in these touches, livelier than life. 9Q0976 Enter certain Senators.

Pain.
How this lord is follow'd!

Poet.
The senators of Athens;—Happy men^{7 note}!

Pain.
Look, more!

Poet.
You see ^{8 note}
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
^{9 note}Halts not particularly, but moves itself
^{1 note}In a wide sea of wax: ^{2 note}

Pain.
How shall I understand you?

Poet.
^{3 note}I'll unbolt to you.
You see, how all conditions, how all minds,
(As well of ^{4 note}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 ^{5 note}glass-fac'd flatterer
To Apemantus, that few things loves better
Than to abhor himself; ^{6 note}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 ^{7 note}rank'd with all deserts, all kind of natures,
That labour on the bosom of this sphere
^{8 note}

Whose present grace to present slaves and servants
Translates his rivals.

Pain.
'Tis ^{9 note}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
^{1 note}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,
^{2 note}Rain sacrificial whisperings in his ear,
Make sacred even his stirrop, and ^{3 note}
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^{4 note}

Pain.
'Tis common:
A thousand moral paintings I can shew^{5 note},
That shall demonstrate these quick blows of fortune
More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well,
To shew lord Timon, that mean eyes^{6 note} 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 strait:
Your honourable letter he desires
To those have shut him up; which failing him,
^{7 note}

Tim.
Noble Ventidius! Well;
I am not of that feather, to shake off
My friend when he must need me. 9Q0977 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 enfranchis'd, bid him come to me:—
^{8 note}

'Tis not enough to help the feeble up,
But to support him after.—Fare you well.

Mes.
All happiness to your honour^{9 note}! [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' 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.
^{1 note}

Tim.
Does she love him?

Old Ath.
She is young, and apt:
Our own precedent passions do instruct us
What levity is in youth.

Tim. [To Lucil.]
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: ^{2 note}

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 outside: These ^{3 note}
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, 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 ^{4 note}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,
^{5 note}Are prized by their masters: believe it, 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. Will you be chid? ^{6 note}Enter Apemantus.

Jew.
We will bear, with your lordship.

Mer.
He'll spare none.

^{7 note}

Apem.
'Till I be gentle, stay for thy good morrow;

When thou art Timon's dog,^{8 note}

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.

Poet.

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 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^{9 note}, 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 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 flatter'd, is worthy o' the flatterer. Heavens, that I were a lord!

Tim.

What would'st do then, Apemantus?

Apem.

Even as Apemantus does now, hate a lord with my heart.

Tim.

What, thyself?

Apem.

Ay.

Tim.

Wherefore?

Apem.
^{1 note}