Dem.

But what's all this to my Lord?

Poet.

No, that's true, 'tis description though.

Dem.
Yes, in twenty lines to describe to him that 'tis about
The fourth hour in the morning—I'le in and let
Him know in three words 'tis the seventh. [Exit Demetrius. Enter Musician.

Poet.
Good morning Sir: whither this way?

Mus.
To present his Honour with a piece of Musick. Enter Demetrius.

Dem.
My Lord will soon come out.

Poet.
He's the very spirit of Nobility—
And like the Sun when ever he breaks forth,
His Universal bounty falls on all. Enter Merchant, Jeweller, Painter, and several others.

Jewell.
Good morrow Gentlemen.

Paint.
Save you all.

Dem.
Now they begin to swarm about the house!

Poet.
What confluence the worthy Timon draws?
Magick of bounty—These familiar Spirits
Are conjur'd up by thee.

Merch.

'Tis a splendid Jewel.

Jewel.

'Tis of an excellent water.

Poet.

What have you there, Sir?

Paint.

It is a Picture Sir, a dumb piece of Poetry: but you present a speaking Poem.

Poet.
I have a little thing slipt idly from me:
The fire within the flint shews not it self
Till it be struck; our gentle flame provokes
It self—

Dem.
You write so scurvily, the Devil's in any man that provokes
You, but your self.

Poet.
It is a pretty mocking of the life.

Paint.
So, so.

Dem.
Now must these Rascals be presented all,
As if they had sav'd his honour or his life;
And I must have a feeling in the business.

Enter certain Senators going in to Timon.

Poet.
How this Lord is follow'd! [Enter more who pass over.

Paint.
See more, well, he's a noble spirit!

Jewel.
A most worthy Lord!

Poet.
What a flood of Visitors his bounty draws!

Dem.
You see how all conditions, how all minds,
As well of glib and slippery Creatures, as
Of grave and austere quality, present
Their services to Lord Timons prosp'rous fortune.
He to his good and gracious nature does subdue
All sorts of tempers, from the smooth fac'd flatterer
To Apemantus, that Philosophical Churle
Who hates the world, and does almost abhor
Himself—

Paint.
He is a most excellent Lord, and makes the finest
Picture!

Poet.
The joy of all mankind; deserves a Homer for his Poet.

Jewel.
A most accomplisht person!

Poet.
The Glory of the Age!

Paint.
Above all parallel!

Dem.
And yet these Rogues, were this man poor, would fly him,
As I would them, if I were he. [Soft Musick.

Poet.
Here's excellent Musick!
In what delights he melts his hours away! Enter Timon and Senators, Timon addressing himself courteously to all.

Tim.
My Lord, you wrong your self, and 'bate too much
Of your own merits: 'Tis but a trifle.

Ælius.
With more than common thanks I must receive it,

Isidore.
Your Lordship has the very soul of bounty.

Phæax.
You load us with too many Obligations.

Tim.
I never can oblige my friends too much.
My Lord, I remember you the other day
Commended a Bay Courser which I rode on.

He's yours, because you lik'd him.

Phæax.
I beseech your Lordship pardon me in this.

Tim.
My word is past: is there ought else you like?
I know my Lord, no man can justly praise
But what he does affect; and I must weigh
My Friends affections with my own:
So kindly I receive your visits, Lords:
My heart is not enough to give, me thinks,
I could deal Kingdoms to my Friends and ne're be weary.

Ælius.
We all must stand amaz'd at your vast bounty!

Cleon.
The spirit of Magnificence reigns in you!

Phæax.
Your Bounty's as diffusive as the Sea.

Tim.
My Noble Lords, you do me too much honour.

Isand.
There lives not such a Noble Lord on Earth.

Thrasil.
None but the Sun and He oblige without
A prospect of Return. Enter a Messenger and whispers Timon.

Tim.
Lampridius imprison'd! say you?

Mess.
Yes, my good Lord, five Talents is his debt:
His Means are short, his Creditors most strict,
He begs your Letter to those cruel men,
That may preserve him from his utter ruine.

Tim.
I am not of that temper to shake off
My Friend when most he needs me: I know him,
A Gentleman that well deserves my help;
Which he shall have: I'le pay the debt and free him.

Mess.
Your Lordship ever binds him to your service.

Tim.
Commend me to him, I will send his Ransom,
And when he's free, bid him depend on me:
'Tis not enough to help the feeble up,
But to support him after—tell him so.

Mess.
All happiness to your honour. [Exit Messenger. Enter an Old Athenian.

Old Man.
My Lord, pray hear me speak.

Tim.
Freely, good Father.

Old Man.
You have a Servant nam'd Diphilus.

Tim.
I have so, that is he.

Old Man.
That fellow there by night frequents my house,
I am a man that from my first have been
Inclin'd to thrift, and my Estate deserves
A nobler Heir than one that holds a trencher.

Tim.
Go on.

Old Man.
I have an only Daughter: 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.
This man attempts her love; pray my good Lord
Joyn with me to forbid him; I have often
Told him my mind in vain.

Tim.
The man is honest.

Old Man.
His honesty rewards him in himself;
It must not bear my Daughter.

Tim.
Does she love him?

Old Man.
She is young and apt.

Tim.
Do you love her?

Diffil.
Yes, my good Lord, and she accepts of mine.

Old Man.
If to her marriage my consent be wanting,
I call the gods to witness, I will make
The Beggars of the street my Heirs e're she
Shall have a drachma.

Tim.
This Gentleman of mine has serv'd me long;
There is a duty from a Master too:
To build his Fortune I will strain a little,
What e're your Daughters Portion weighs, this
Mans shall counterpoise.

Old Man.
Say you so my Noble Lord! Upon your honour.
This, and she is his.

Tim.
Give me thy hand: my Honour on my promise.

Diffil.
My Noble Lord, I thank you on my knees:
May I be as miserable as I shall be base
When I forget this most surprizing favour:
No Fortune or Estate shall e're be mine,
Which I'le not humbly lay before your feet.

Tim.
Rise. I ne're do good with prospect of return,
That were but merchandizing, a mere trade
Of putting kindness out to use.

Poet.

Vouchsafe to accept my labours, and long live your Lordship.

Tim.
I thank you; you shall hear from me anon:
What have you there my friend?

Paint.
A piece of Limning for your Lordship.

Tim.
'Tis welcome. I like it, and you shall find I do.

Jewel.
My Lord, here is the Jewel!

Tim.
'Tis Excellent! Enter Apemantus.

Jewel.
Your Lordship mends the Jewel by the wearing.

Tim.
Well mock't.

Poet.
No, my good Lord, he speaks what all men think.

Apem.
Scum of all flatterers, wilt thou still persist
For filthy gain, to gild and varnish o're
This great Man's Vanities!

Tim.
Nay, now we must be chidden.

Poet.
I can bear with your Lordship.

Apem.
Yes, and without him too: vain credulous Timon,
If thou believ'st this Knave, thou'art a fool.

Tim.
Well, gentle Apemantus, good morrow to thee.

Apem.
Till, I am gentle; stay for thy good morrow
Till thou art Timons dog, and these Knaves honest.

Tim.
Why dost thou call them Knaves?

Apem.
They're Athenians, and I'le not recant;
Th'are all base Fawners; what a coile is here
With smiling, cringing, jutting out of Bums:
I wonder whether all the legs they make
Are worth the summes they cost you; friendship's full
Of dregs; base filthy dregs.
Thus honest fools lay out their wealth for cringes.

Ælius.

Do you know us fellow?

Apem.

Did I not call you by your names?

Tim.

Thou preachest against Vice, and thou thy self art proud Apemantus.

Apem.

Proud! that I am not Timon.

Tim.

Why so?

Apem.
To give belief to flatt'ring Knaves and Poets,
And to be still my self my greatest flatterer:

What should Great Men be proud of stead of noise
And pomp and show, and holding up their heads,
And cocking of their noses; pleas'd to see
Base smiling Knaves, and cringing fools bow to 'em?
Did they but see their own ridiculous folly,
Their mean and absurd vanities; they'd hide
Their heads within some dark and little corner,
And be afraid that every fool should find 'em.

Tim.
Thou hast too much sowrness in thy blood.

Poet.
Hang him,—n'er mind him—

Apem.
What is this foolish animal man, that we
Should magnifie him so? a little warm,
And walking Earth that will be ashes soon;
We come into the world crying and squalling,
And so much of our time's consum'd in driv'ling infancy,
In ignorance sleep, disease and trouble, that
The remainder is not worth the being rear'd to.

Phæax.
A preaching fool.

Apem.
A fool? if thou hadst half my wit thou'dst find
Thy self an Ass! Is it not truth I speak?
Are not all the arts and subtleties of men,
All their Inventions, all their Sciences,
All their Diversions, all their Sports, little enough
To pass away their happiest hours with,
And make a heavy life be born with patience?

Tim.
I with the help of friends will make mine easier
Than what your melancholy frames.

Apem.
How little dost thou look before thee!
Thou, who tak'st such great felicity in Fools and Knaves,
And in thy own enjoyments, wilt e're long
Find 'em such thin, such poor and empty shadows,
That thou wilt wish thou never hadst been born.

Tim.
I do not think so.

Phæax.
Hang him, send him to the Areopagus, and let him
Be whipt!

Apem.
Thus innocence, truth and merit often suffer,
Whil'st injurers, oppressors and desertless fools
Swell in their brief authority, look big

And strut in Furs; 'tis a foul shame,
But 'tis a loathsome Age,—it has been long
Impost humating with its villanie;
And now the swelling's broken out
In most contagious ulcers; no place free
From the destructive Pestilence of manners;
Out upon't, 'tis time the world should end!

Tim.
Do not rail so—'tis to little purpose.

Apem.
I fear it is, I have done my morning lecture,
And I'le be gone—

Tim.
Whither?

Apem.
To knock out an honest Athenians brains.

Tim.
Why? that's a deed thou'lt die for Apemantus.

Apem.
Yes, if doing nothing be death by the Law.

Tim.
Will nothing please thee? how dost thou like this Picture?

Apem.
Better than the thing 'twas drawn for, 'twill
Neither lie, drink, nor whore,
Flatter a man to his face, and cut his
Throat behind his back;
For since false smiles, and base
Dishonour traffique with mans nature,
He is but mere outside; Pictures are
Even such as they give out: Oh! did you see
The insides of these Fellows minds about you,
You'd loath the base corruptions more than all
The putrid Excrements their bodies hide.

Ælius.
Silence the foul mouth'd villain.

Tim.
He hurts not us. How lik'st thou this Jewel?

Apem.
Not so well as plain dealing, which will not cost a
Man a do it.

Tim.
What dost thou think this Jewel worth?

Apem.
What fools esteem it, it is not worth my thinking.
Lo, now the mighty use of thy great Riches!
That must set infinite value on a Bawble!
Will't keep thee warm, or satisfie thy thirst,
Or hunger? No, it is comparison
That gives it value; then, thou look'st upon
Thy finger, and art very proud to think.

A poor man cannot have it: Childish pleasure!
What stretcht inventions must be found to make
Great wealth of use? Oh! that I were a Lord!

Tim.
What would'st thou do?

Apem.
I would cudgel two men a day for flattering me,
Till I had beaten the whole Senate.

Phæax.
Let the Villain be soundly punish'd for his
Licentious tongue.

Tim.
No, the man is honest, 'tis his humour: 'Tis odd,
And methinks pleasant. You must dine with me
Apemantus.

Apem.
I devour no Lords.

Tim.
No, if you did, the Ladies wou'd be angry.

Apem.
Yet they with all their modest simperings,
And varnish'd looks can swallow Lords, and get
Great bellies by't, yet keep their virtuous
Vizors on, till a poor little Bastard steals into
The world, and tells a tale. Enter Nicius.

Tim.
My Noble Lord, welcome! most welcom to my arms!
You are the Fountain from which all my happiness
Did spring! your matchless Daughter, fair Mellissa.

Nic.
You honour us too much my Lord.

Tim.
I cannot, she is the joy of Athens! the chief delight
Of Nature, the only life I live by: Oh, that her vows
Were once expir'd; it is methinks an Age till that blest day
When we shall joyn our hands and hearts together.

Nic.
'Tis but a week, my Lord.

Tim.
'Tis a thousand years.

Apem.
Thou miserable Lord, hast thou to compleat
All thy calamities, that plague of Love,
That most unmanly madness of the mind,
That specious cheat, as false as friendship is?
Did'st thou but see how like a sniveling thing
Thou look'st and talk'st, thou would'st abhor or laugh at
Thy own admir'd Image.

Tim.
Peace: I will hear no railing on this subject.

Apem.
Oh vile corrupted time, that men should be
Deaf to good Counsel, not to Flatterie.

Tim.
Come my dear friends, let us now visit our gardens,
And refresh our selves with some cool Wines and Fruit:
I am transported with your Visits!
There is not now a Prince whom I can envy,
Unless it be in that he can more bestow
Upon the men he loves.

Ælius.

My Noble Lord, who would not wed your friendship, though without a Dowrie?

Isodor.

Most worthy Timon! who has a life you may not call your own?

Phæax.

We are all your slaves.

Poet.

The joy of all Mankind.

Jewel.

Great spirit of Nobleness.

Tim.

We must not part this day my Friends.

Apem.
So, so, crouching slaves aches contract and make your supple
Joynts to wither; that there should be so little
Love among these Knaves, yet all this courtesie!
They hate and scorn each other, yet they kiss
As if they were of different Sexes: Villains, Villains. Exeunt Omnes. Enter Evandra. Re-enter Timon.

Tim.
Hail to the fair Evandra! methinks your looks are chang'd,
And clouded with some grief that misbecomes 'em.

Evan.
My Lord, my ears this morning were saluted with
The most unhappy news, the dismal'st story
The only one cou'd have afflicted me;
My dream foretold it, and I wak'd affrighted
With a cold sweat o're all my limbs.

Tim.
What was it Madam?

Evand.
You speak not with the kindness you were wont,
I have been us'd to tenderer words than these:
It is too true, and I am miserable!

Tim.
What is't disturbs you so? too well I guess. [Aside.

Evan.
I hear I am to lose your Love, which was
The only earthly blessing I enjoy'd,
And that on which my life depended.

Tim.
No, I must ever love my Excellent Evandra!

Evan.
Melissa will not suffer it: Oh cruel Timon,
Thou well may'st blush at thy ingratitude!
Had I so much towards thee, I ne're shou'd show
My face without confusion: Such a guilt,
As if I had destroy'd thy Race, and ruin'd
All thy Estate, and made thee infamous!
Thy Love to me I cou'd prefer before
All cold respects of Kindred, Wealth and Fame.

Tim.
You have been kind so far above return,
That 'tis beyond expression.

Evan.
Call to mind
Whose Race I sprung from, that of great Alcides,
Though not my Fortune, my Beauty and my Youth
And my unspotted Fame yielded to none.
You on your knees a thousand times have sworn,
That they exceeded all, and yet all these,
The only treasures a poor Maid possest,
I sacrific'd to you, and rather chose
To throw my self away, than you shou'd be
Uneasie in your wishes; since which happy
And yet unhappy time, you have been to me,
My Life, my Joy, my Earth, my Heaven, my All,
I never had one single wish beyond you;
Nay, every action, every thought of mine,
How far soe're their large circumference
Stretcht out, yet center'd all in you: You were
My End, the only thing could fill my mind.

Tim.
She strikes me to the heart! I would I had
Not seen her. [Aside.

Evan.
Ah Timon, I have lov'd you so, that had
My eyes offended you, I with these fingers
Had pluckt 'em by the roots, and cast them from me:
Or had my heart contain'd one thought that was
Not yours, I with this hand would rip it open:
Shew me a Wife in Athens can say this;
And yet I am not one, but you are now to marry.

Tim.
That I have lov'd you, you and Heav'n can witness
By many long repeated acts of Love,

And Bounty I have shew'd you—

Evan.
Bounty! ah Timon!
I am not yet so mean, but I contemn
Your transitory dirt, and all rewards,
But that of Love, your person was the bound
Of all my thoughts and wishes, in return
You have lov'd me! Oh miserable sound!
I would you never had, or alwayes would.

Tim.
Man is not master of his appetites,
Heav'n swayes our mind to Love.

Evan.
But Hell to falsehood:
How many thousand times y' have vow'd and sworn
Eternal Love; Heav'n has not yet absolv'd
You of your Oaths to me; nor can I ever,
My Love's as much too much as yours too little.

Tim.
If you love me, you'l love my happiness,
Melissa; Beauty and her Love to me
Has so inflam'd me, I can have none without her.

Evan.
If I had lov'd another, when you first,
My dear, false Timon swore to me, would you
Have wisht I might have found my happiness
Within anothers armes? No, no, it is
To love a contradiction.

Tim.
'Tis a truth I cannot answer.

Evan.
Besides, Melissa's beauty
Is not believ'd to exceed my little stock,
Even modesty may praise it self when 'tis
Aspers'd: But her Love is mercenary,
Most mercenary, base, 'tis Marriage Love:
She gives her person, but in vile exchange
She does demand your liberty: But I
Could generously give without mean bargaining:
I trusted to your honour, and lost mine,
Lost all my Friends and Kindred: but little thought
I should have lost my Love, and cast it on
A barren and ungrateful soil that would return no fruit.

Tim.
This does perplex me, I must break it off. [Aside.

Evan.
The first storm of your Love did shake me so,

It threw down all my leaves, my hopeful blossoms,
Pull'd down my branches; but this latter tempest of your hate
Strikes at my root, and I must wither now,
Like a desertless, sapless tree: must fall—

Tim.
You are secure against all injuries
While I have breath—

Evan.
And yet you do the greatest.

Timon.
You shall be so much partner of my fortune
As will secure you full respect from all,
And may support your quality in what pomp
You can desire.

Evan.
I am not of so course a Mould, or have
So gross a mind, as to partake of ought
That's yours without you—
But, oh thou too dear perjur'd man, I could
With thee prefer a dungeon, a low and loathsome dungeon
Before the stately guilded fretted Roofs,
The Pomp, the noise, the show, the revelling,
And all the glittering splendour of a Palace.

Tim.
I by resistless fate am hurry'd on—

Evan.
A vulgar, mean excuse for doing ill.

Tim.
If that were not, my honour is engag'd—

Evan.
It had a pre-engagement—

Tim.
All the great men of Athens urge me on
To marry and to preserve my Race.

Evan.
Suppose your Wife be false; (as 'tis not new
In Athens;) and suffer others to graft upon
Your stock; where is your Race? weak vulgar reason!

Tim.
Her honour will not suffer her.

Evan.
She may do it cunningly and keep her honour.

Tim.
Her love will then secure her; which is as fervent

Evan.
As yours was once to me, and may continue
Perhaps as long, and yet you cannot know
She loves you. Since that base Cecropian Law
Made Love a merchandize, to traffick hearts
For marriage, and for Dowry, who's secure?
Now her great sign of Love, is, she's content
To bind you in the strongest chains, and to

A slavery, nought can manumize you from
But death: And I could be content to be
A slave to you, without those vile conditions—

Tim.
Why are not our desires within our power?
Or why should we be punisht for obeying them?
But we cannot create our own affections;
They're mov'd by some invisible active Pow'r,
And we are only passive, and whatsoever
Of imperfection follows from th' obedience
To our desires, we suffer, not commit
And 'tis a cruel and a hard decree,
That we must suffer first, and then be punish't for't.

Evan.
Your Philosophy is too subtle—but what
Security of Love from her can be like mine?
Is Marriage a bond of Truth, which does consist
Of a few trifling Ceremonies? Or are those
Charms or Philters? 'Tis true, my Lord, I was not
First lifted o're the Threshold, and then
Led by my Parents to Minerva's Temple:
No young unyok'd Heifers blood was offer'd
To Diana; no invocation to Juno, or the Parcæ:
No Coachman drove me with a lighted torch;
Nor was your house adorn'd with Garlands then;
Nor had I Figs thrown on my head, or lighted
By my dear Mothers torches to your bed:
Are these slight things, the bonds of truth and constancy?
I came all Love into your arms, unmixt
With other aims; and you for this will cause
My death.

Tim.
I'de sooner seek my own, Evandra.

Evan.
Ah, my Lord, if that be true, then go not to Melissa,
For I shall die to see another have
Possession of all that e're I wisht for on earth.

Tim.
I would I had not seen Melissa:—

Evan.
Ah my dear Lord, there is some comfort left;
Cherish those noble thoughts, and they'l grow stronger,
Your lawful gratitude and Love will rise,
And quell the other rebel-passion in you;

Use all the endeavours which you can, and if
They fail in my relief, I'le die to make you happy.

Tim.
You have moved me to be womanish; pray retire,
I will love you.

Evan.
Oh happy word! Heav'n ever bless my Dear;
Farewell: but will you never see Melissa more?

Tim.
Sweet Excellence! Retire.

Evan.
I will—will you remember your Evandra?

Tim.
Yes, I will.
How happy were Mankind in Constancy,
'Twould equal us with the Celestial Spirits!
O could we meet with the same tremblings still,
Those panting joyes, those furious desires,
Those happy trances which we found at first!
But, oh!

Unhappy man, whose most transporting joy
Feeds on such luscious food as soon will cloy,
And that which shou'd preserve, does it destroy. [Exit Timon.