be a just and true report that goes of his Poet. What have you now to present unto him? Pain. Nothing at this time but my visitation: only I 201 will promise him an excellent piece. Poct. I must serve him so too, tell him of an intent that's coming toward him. Pain. Good as the best. Promising is the very air o' the time it opens the eyes of expectation: performance is ever the duller for his act; and, but in the plainer and simpler kind of people, the deed of saying is quite out of use. To promise is most courtly and fashionable: performance is a kind of will or testament which argues a great 30 sickness in his judgement that makes it. [Timon comes from his cave, behind. Tim. [Aside] Excellent workman! thou canst not paint a man so bad as is thyself. Poet. I am thinking what I shall say I have provided for him: it must be a personating of himself; a satire against the softness of prosperity, with a discovery of the infinite flatteries that follow youth and opulency. Tim. [Aside] Must thou needs stand for a villain in thine own work? wilt thou whip thine own 40 Poet. Nay, let's seek him: Then do we sin against our own estate, When we may profit meet, and come too late. Pain. True; When the day serves, before black-corner'd night, Find what thou want'st by free and offer'd light. Tim. [Aside] I'll meet you at the turn. What a god's gold, Than where swine feed! 51 'Tis thou that rigg'st the bark and plough'st the foam, Settlest admired reverence in a slave: To thee be worship! and thy saints for aye Be crown'd with plagues, that thee alone obey! Poet. Hail, worthy Timon! Pain. [Coming forward. Our late noble master! 60 Tim. Have I once lived to see two honest men? Having often of your open bounty tasted, Whose star-like nobleness gave life and influence With any size of words. Tim. Let it go naked, men may see 't the better. Pain. Tim. He and myself Have travail'd in the great shower of your gifts, Ay, you are honest men. Pain. We are hither come to offer you our service. Tim. Most honest men! Why, how shall I requite you? 70 Can you eat roots, and drink cold water? no. Both. What we can do, we 'll do, to do you service. Tim. Ye're honest men: ye've heard that I have gold; I am sure you have: speak truth; ye're honest men. Pain. So it is said, my noble lord: but therefore 81 Came not my friend nor I. Tim. Good honest men! Thou draw'st a counterfeit Pain. So, so, my lord. Tim. E'en so, sir, as I say. And, for thy fiction, Both. Tim. But, for all this, my honest-natured friends, Marry, 'tis not monstrous in you; neither wish I To make it known to us. Beseech your honour You'll take it ill. Will you, indeed? Both. Most thankfully, my lord. Both. Doubt it not, worthy lord. Tim. There's never a one of you but trusts a knave Both. Do we, my lord? Tim. Ay, and you hear him cog, see him dissemble, Pain. I know none such, my lord. 90 100 Poet. Nor I. |