SCENE V.
Enter Flaminius, Servilius, and other servants.
Serv.
My lord, my lord.
Tim.
I will dispatch you sev'rally.
You to lord Lucius—to lord Lucullus you, I hunted
with his Honour to day—you to Sempronius—commend
me to their loves; and I am proud, say, that my
occasions have found time to use 'em toward a supply
of mony; let the request be fifty talents.
Flam.
As you have said, my lord.
Flav.
Lord Lucius and Lucullus? hum—
Tim.
Go, you, Sir, to the Senators;
[To Flavius.
Of whom, even to the State's best health, I have
Deserv'd this hearing; bid 'em send o'th' instant
A thousand talents to me.
Flav.
I've been bold,
(For that 1 noteI knew it the most gen'ral way)
To them to use your signet and your name;
But they do shake their heads, and I am here
No richer in Return.
Tim.
Is't true? can't be?
&plquo;Flav.
&plquo;They answer in a joint and corporate voice,
&plquo;That now they are at Fall, want Treasure, cannot
-- 180 --
&plquo;Do what they would; are sorry—You are honourable—
&plquo;But yet they could have wisht—they know not—
&plquo;Something hath been amiss—a noble nature
&plquo;May catch a wrench—would all were well—'tis pity—
&plquo;And so intending other serious matters,
&plquo;After distasteful looks, 2 noteand these hard fractions,
&plquo;With certain half-caps, and cold-moving nods,
&plquo;They froze me into silence.&prquo;
Tim.
You Gods reward them!
I pr'ythee, man, look cheerly. &wlquo;These old fellows
&wlquo;3 noteHave their Ingratitude in them hereditary:
&wlquo;Their blood is cak'd, 'tis cold, it seldom flows,
&wlquo;'Tis lack of kindly warmth, they are not kind;
&wlquo;And nature, as it grows again tow'rd earth,
&wlquo;Is fashion'd for the journey, dull and heavy.&wrquo;
Go to Ventidius—pr'ythee, be not sad,
Thou'rt true, and just; ingenuously I speak,
No Blame belongs to thee: Ventidius lately
Bury'd his father, by whose death he's stepp'd
Into a great estate; when he was poor,
Imprison'd, and in scarcity of friends,
I clear'd him with five talents. Greet him from me;
Bid him suppose, some good necessity
Touches his friend, which craves to be remember'd
With those five talents. That had, give't these fellows
To whom 'tis instant due. Ne'er speak, or think,
That Timon's fortunes 'mong his friends can sink.
Stew.
'Would, I could not: that thought is bounty's foe;
Being free itself, it thinks all others so.
[Exeunt.
-- 181 --
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].
