TIMON OF ATHENS. ACT I. SCENE I-Athens. A hall in Timon's house. Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and others, at several doors. GOOD day, sir. Poet. Pain. I am glad you are well. Poet. I have not seen you long; How goes the world? Pain. It wears, sir, as it grows. Poet. Ay, that's well known: But what particular rarity? what strange, Which manifold record not matches? See, Magic of bounty! all these spirits thy power Hath conjur'd to attend. I know the merchant. Pain. I know them both; t'other's a jeweller. Mer. O, 'tis a worthy lord! Jew. Nay, that's most fix'd. Mer. A most incomparable man; breath'd,1 as it were, To an untirable and continuate2 goodness: He passes. Jew. I have a jewel here. Mer. O, pray, let's see't: For the lord Timon, sir? (1) Inured by constant practice. (2) For continual. (3) i. e. Exceeds, goes beyond common bounds. Jew. If he will touch the estimate: But, for thatPoet. When we for recompense have prais'd the vile, It stains the glory in that happy verse Which aptly sings the good. Mer. 'Tis a good form. [Looking at the jewel. Jew. And rich: here is a water, look you. Pain. You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedication To the great lord. Poet. A thing slipp'd idly from me. Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes From whence 'tis nourished: The fire i'the flint Poet. Upon the heels of my presentment,' sir. Let's see your piece. Pain. 'Tis a good piece. Poet. So 'tis: this comes off well and excellent. Pain. Indifferent. Poet. Admirable: How this grace Speaks his own standing! what a mental power This eye shoots forth! how big imagination Moves in this lip! to the dumbness of the gesture One might interpret. Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life. Here is a touch; Is't good? Poet. I'll say of it, It tutors nature: artificial strife2 Lives in these touches, livelier than life. Enter certain Senators, and pass over. Pain. How this lord's follow'd! (1) As soon as my book has been presented to Timon. (2) i. e. The contest of art with nature. Poet. The senators of Athens:-Happy men! Pain. Look, more! Poet. You see this confluence, this great flood of visitors. I have, in this rough work, shap'd out a man, Pain. How shall I understand you? To Apemantus, that few things loves better Pain. mount Is rank'd with all deserts, all kind of natures, To propagate their states :4 amongst them all, (1) My design does not stop at any particular character. (2) Open, explain. (3) One who shows by reflection the looks of his patron. (4) To advance their conditions of life. Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady fix'd, Pain. 'Tis conceiv'd to scope. This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks, With one man beckon'd from the rest below, Bowing his head against the steepy mount To climb his happiness, would be well express'd In our condition. Poet. Nay, sir, but hear me on: All those which were his fellows but of late (Some better than his value,) on the moment Follow his strides, his lobbies fill with tendance, Rain sacrificial whisperings in his ear, Make sacred even his stirrup, and through him Drink2 the free air. Pain. 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 More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well To show lord Timon, that mean eyes3 have seen The foot above the head. Trumpets sound. Enter Timon, attended; the Servant of Ventidius talking with him. Tim, Imprison'd is he, say you? Ven. Serv. Ay, my good lord: five talents is his debt; (1) Whisperings of officious servility. Inhale. (3) i. e. Inferior spectators. His means most short, his creditors most strait : To those have shut him up; which failing to him, Tim. Noble Ventidius! Well; I am not of that feather, to shake off My friend when he must need me. I do know him A gentleman, that well deserves a help, Which he shall have: I'll pay the debt, and free him. Ven. Serv. Your lordship ever binds him. Tim. Commend me to him: I will send his ran som; And, being enfranchis'd, bid him come to me : 'Tis not enough to help the feeble up, But to support him after.-Fare you well. Ven. Serv. All happiness to your honour! [Ex. Old Ath. Lord Timon, hear me speak. Tim. 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 thee. Tim. Attends he here, or no?-Lucilius! Enter Lucilius. 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. |