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Poet. You see this confluence, this great flood of
I have in this rough work, shap'd out a man,
Pain. How shall I understand Poet. I'll unbolt to you. You see how all conditions, how all minds (As well of glib and slippery creatures, as Of grave and austere quality,) tender down Their services to lord Timon: his large fortune, Upon his good and gracious nature hanging, Subdues and properties to his love and tendance All sorts of hearts; yea, from the glass-fac'd flatterert,
To Apemantus, that few things loves better
Pain. I saw them speak together. Poet. Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill, Feign'd fortune to be thron'd: the base o'the mount Is rank'd with all deserts, all kind of natures, That labour on the bosom of this sphere To propagate their states§: amongst them all, Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady fix'd, One do I personate of lord Timon's frame, Whom fortune with her ivory hand wafts to her; Whose present grace to present slaves and servants Translates his rivals.
'Tis conceiv'd to scope.
*My design does not stop at any particular character. + Open, explain. One who shows by reflection the looks of his patron.
§ To advance their conditions of life.
This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks,
Ay, marry, what of these? Poet. When Fortune, in her shift and change of mood,
Spurns down her late-belov'd, all his dependants, Which labour'd after him to the mountain's top, Even on their knees and hands, let him slip down, Not one accompanying his declining foot.
Pain. 'Tis common:
A thousand moral paintings I can show,
That shall demonstrate these quick blows of fortune
Trumpets sound. Enter Timon, attended; the Servant of Ventidius talking with him. Imprison'd is he, say you? Ven. Serv. Ay, my good lord: five talents is his debt;
His means most short, his creditors most strait :
To those have shut him up; which failing to him,
Noble Ventidius! Well;
*Whisperings of officious servility.
i. e. Inferior spectators.
I am not of that feather, to shake off
My friend when he must need me. I do know him
Tim. Commend me to him: I will send his ransom;
And, being enfranchis'd, bid him come to me:
Tim. Attends he here, or no?-Lucilius!
Enter an old Athenian.
Old Ath. Lord Timon, hear me speak.
Freely, good father. Old Ath. Thou hast a servant nam'd Lucilius. Tim. I have so: What of him?
Old Ath. Most noble Timon, call the man before
Luc. Here, at your lordship's service.
Old Ath. This fellow here, lord Timon, this thy
By night frequents my house. I am a man
Tim. Well; what further? Old Ath. One only daughter have I, no kin else, On whom I may confer what I have got : The maid is fair, o'the youngest for a bride, And I have bred her at my dearest cost, In qualities of the best. This man of thine Attempts her love: I pr'ythee, noble lord, Join with me to forbid him her resort; Myself have spoke in vain.
The man is honest.
Old Ath. Therefore he will be, Timon:
Old Ath. She is young, and apt :
Tim. [To Lucilius.] Love you the maid?
Does she love him?
Tim. How shall she be endow'd, If she be mated with an equal husband? Old Ath. Three talents, on the present; in future, all.
Tim. This gentleman of mine hath serv'd me long; To build his fortune, I will strain a little, For 'tis a bond in men. Give him thy daughter: What you bestow, in him I'll counterpoise, And make him weigh with her.
Old Ath. Most noble lord, Pawn me to this your honour, she is his.
Tim. My hand to thee; mine honour on my promise.
Luc. Humbly I thank your lordship: Never may That state or fortune fall into my keeping, Which is not ow'd to you!
[Exeunt Lucilius and old Athenian. Poet. Vouchsafe my labour, and long live your lordship!
Tim. I thank you; you shall hear from me anon: Go not away.-What have you there, my friend? Pain. A piece of painting, which I do beseech Your lordship to accept.
Even such as they give out*, I like your work; And you shall find, I like it: wait attendance Till you hear further from me.
The gods preserve you! Tim. Well fare you, gentlemen: Give me your hand :
We must needs dine together.-Sir, your jewel
What, my lord? dispraise? Tim. A mere satiety of commendations. If I should pay you for't as 'tis extoll'd, It would unclew† me quite.
My lord, 'tis rated As those, which sell, would give: But you well know,
Things of like value, differing in the owners,
Well mock'd. Mer. No, my good lord; he speaks the common tongue,
Which all men speak with him.
Tim. Look, who comes here. Will you be chid?
Jew. We will bear, with your lordship. Mer. He'll spare none. Tim. Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus! Apem. Till I be gentle, stay for thy good-morrow; When thou art Timon's dog, and these knaves honest. Tim. Why dost thou call them knaves? thou know'st them not.
A pem. Are they not Athenians?
Apem. Then I repent not.
Jew. You know me, Apemantus.
Apem. Thou knowest, I do; I call'd thee by thy
* Pictures have no hypocrisy; they are what they profess to be. To unclew a man, is to draw out the whole mass of his fortunes.