SCENE III.
6 note
Enter Apemantus.
Will you be chid?
Jew.
We'll bear it with your lordship.
Mer.
He'll spare none.
Tim.
7 note
Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus!
Apem.
'Till I be gentle, stay for thy good morrow.
-- 156 --
Apem.
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.
Paint.
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.
-- 157 --
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 o' 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, thyself?
Apem.
Ay.
Tim.
Wherefore?
Apem.
8 note
That I had so hungry a wit, to be a lord.—
Art thou not a Merchant?
Mer.
Ay, Apemantus.
Apem.
Traffic confound thee, if the Gods will not!
Mer.
If Traffick do it, the Gods do it.
-- 158 --
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.
Ere we do part, we'll share a bounteous time
In different pleasures. Pray you, let us in.
[Exeunt.
Alexander Pope [1747], The works of Shakespear in eight volumes. The Genuine Text (collated with all the former Editions, and then corrected and emended) is here settled: Being restored from the Blunders of the first Editors, and the Interpolations of the two Last: with A Comment and Notes, Critical and Explanatory. By Mr. Pope and Mr. Warburton (Printed for J. and P. Knapton, [and] S. Birt [etc.], London) [word count] [S11301].
