SCENE VI.
Enter Cupid with a mask of ladies.
Cup.
Hail to thee, worthy Timon, and to all
That of his bounties taste:
The five best senses acknowledge thee their patron, and come freely
To gratulate thy plenteous bosom.
There taste, touch, all, pleas'd from thy table rise:
They only now come but to feast thine eyes.
Tim.
They're welcome all; let 'em have kind admittance.
Let musick make their welcome.
Luc.
You see, my lord, how amply you're belov'd.
Apem.
Hoyday! what a sweep of vanity comes this way!
They dance, they are mad women.
Like madness is the glory of this life;
As this pomp shews to a little oyl and root.
We make our selves fools, to disport our selves;
And spend our flatteries, to drink those men,
Upon whose age we void it up again,
With poisonous spight and envy—
Who lives, that's not depraved, or depraves?
Who dies, that bears not one spurn to their graves
Of their friends gift?
I should fear, those that dance before me now,
Would one day stamp upon me: 'Thas been done;
Men shut their doors against a setting sun.
The lords rise from table, with much adoring of Timon, each
singles out an Amazon, and all dance, men with women, a
lofty strain or two to the hautboys, and cease.
Tim.
You have done our pleasures much grace, fair ladies,
Set a fair fashion on our entertainment,
-- 21 --
Which was not half so beautiful and kind:
You've added worth unto't, and lively lustre,
And entertain'd me with mine own device.
I am to thank you for it.
Luc.
My lord, you take us even at the best.
Apem.
Faith for the worst is filthy, and would not hold taking,
I doubt me.
Tim.
Ladies, there is an idle banquet attends you. Please
you to dispose your selves.
All La.
Most thankfully, my lord.
[Exeunt.
Tim.
Flavius?
Flav.
My lord.
Tim.
The little casket bring me hither.
Flav.
Yes, my lord. More jewels yet? there is no crossing
him in's humour,
Else I should tell him—well—i'faith I should,
When all's spent, he'd be cross'd then if he could:
'Tis pity bounty has not eyes behind,
That man might ne'er be wretched for his mind.
Luc.
Where be our men?
Ser.
Here, my lord, in readiness.
Lucul.
Our horses.
Tim.
O my good friends!
I have one word to say to you: look my lord,
I must entreat you, honour me so much
As to advance this jewel, accept, and wear it,
Kind my lord!
Luc.
I am so far already in your gifts—
All.
So are we all.
[Exe. Lucius and Lucullus.
-- 26 --
George Sewell [1723–5], The works of Shakespear in six [seven] volumes. Collated and Corrected by the former Editions, By Mr. Pope ([Vol. 7] Printed by J. Darby, for A. Bettesworth [and] F. Fayram [etc.], London) [word count] [S11101].
