Other Lords, Senators, Officers, Banditti, and Attendants. SCENE: Athens, and the neighbouring woods. The Life of TIMON OF ATHENS. ACT FIRST. Scene I. Athens. A hall in Timon's house. Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and others, at several doors. Poet. Good day, sir. Pain. I am glad you 're well. Poet. I have not seen you long: how goes the world? Jew. Nay, that's most fix'd. Mer. A most incomparable man, breathed, as it were, ΙΟ Mer. O, pray, let's see 't: for the Lord Timon, sir? It stains the glory in that happy verse Which aptly sings the good.' Mer. [Looking on the jewel] 'Tis a good form. Jew. And rich: here is a water, look ye. Pain. You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedication Poet. A thing slipp'd idly from me. Each bound it chafes. What have you there? Pain. Let's see your piece. 'Tis a good piece. Poet. So 'tis: this comes off well and excellent. Poet. Admirable: how this grace Speaks his own standing! what a mental power Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life. Poet. Here is a touch; is 't good? I will say of it, It tutors nature: artificial strife Lives in these touches, livelier than life. Enter certain Senators, and pass over. Pain. How this lord is follow'd! Poet. The senators of Athens: happy man! 20 30 40 Pain. Look, moe! Poet. You see this confluence, this great flood of visitors. Pain. How shall I understand you? Poet. Pain. 50 I will unbolt to you. I saw them speak together. Poet. Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill 60 Feign'd Fortune to be throned: the base o' the mount Pain. Poet. Pain. Whose present grace to present slaves and servants 'Tis conceived to scope. This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks, 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, 80 Make sacred even his stirrup, and through him Ay, marry, what of these? Pain. 'Tis common: A thousand moral paintings I can show, 90 That shall demonstrate these quick blows of Fortune's Trumpets sound. Enter Lord Timon, addressing himself courteously to every suitor; a Messenger from Ventidius talking with him; Lucilius and other servants following. Tim. Imprison'd is he, say you? |