Amazons.
Cup.
Hail to thee, worthy Timon, and to all
That of his bounties taste! the five best Senses
Acknowledge thee their patron; and do come
Freely to gratulate thy plenteous bosom:
6 note
Th' Ear, Taste, Touch, Smell, pleas'd from thy Table rise,
These only now come but to feast thine eyes.
-- 165 --
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!
7 note
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 ourselves fools, to disport ourselves;
And spend our flatteries, to drink those men,
8 noteUpon whose age we void it up again,
With poisonous spight and envy—
Who lives, that's not depraved or depraves?
-- 166 --
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: 'T has been done;
Men shut their doors against the setting sun.
The Lords rise from table, with much adoring of Timon; each singling 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,
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 yourselves.
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.
Lucul.
Where be our men?
Serv.
Here, my lord, in readiness.
Luc.
Our Horses.
Tim.
O my good friends!
I have one word to say to you; look, my lord,
-- 167 --
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, Lucullus, &c.
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].
