ACTI. SCENE I. SCENE A Hall in Timon's Houfe. Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and Mercer, at feveral Doors. POET. OOD Day, Sir. Pain. I am glad ye are well. Poet. I have not feen you long, how goes the World? Pain. It wears, Sir, as it grows. But what particular Rarity? What fo ftrange, I know the Merchant. Pain. I know them both, th' other's a Jeweller. Jew. Nay, that's moft fixt. Mer. A moft incomparable Man, breath'd as it were, To an untirable and continuate Goodness: He paffes Jew. I have a Jewel here. Mer. O pray let's fee't. For the Lord Timon, Sir? Few. If he will touch the Eftimate, but for that Poet. When we for recompence have prais'd the vild, It stains the Glory in that happy Verse, Which aptly fings the good. Mer. 'Tis a good form. Jew. And rich; here is Water, look ye. Pain. You are rapt, Sir, in fome Work, fome Dedication to the great Lord. Poet. A thing flipt idly from me. Our Poefie is as a Gown, which uses From whence 'tis nourisht: The fire i'th' Flint Each bound it chafes. What have you there? Pain. A Picture, Sir:When comes your Book forth? Poet. Upon the Heels of my Prefentment, Sir. Let's fee your Piece. Pain. '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. I will fay of it, It tutors Nature, artificial Strife Lives in thefe touches livelier than Life. Enter certain Senators, Pain. How this Lord is followed! Poet. Poet. The Senators of Athens, happy Men. Pain. Look, more. Poet. You fee this confluence, this great flood of Vifiters, I have, in this rough Work, fhap'd out a Man, Pain. How fhall I underftand you? Poet. I will unbolt to you. You fee how all Conditions, how all Minds, Pain. I faw them speak together. Poer. Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant Hill Pain. 'Ts conceiv'd, to fcope This Throne, this Fortune, and this Hill, methinks Bowing his Head against the steepy Mount, To To climb his Happiness, would be well expreft Poet. Nay, Sir, but hear me on: All those which were his Fellows but of late, Make facred even his Stirrop, and through him Pain. Ay marry, what of thefe? Poet. When Fortune in her shift and change of Mood A thousand moral Paintings I can fhew, That shall demonftrate thefe quick blows of Fortune, Trumpets found. Enter Lord Timon addrefing himself courteously to every Suitor. Tim. Imprifoned is he, fay you? [To a Messenger. To thofe have fhut him up, which failing to him, Tim. Noble Ventidius! well I am not of that Feather, to shake off My Friend when he moft needs me. I do know him Which he fhall have. I'll pay the Debt, and free him. Tim. Commend me to him, I will fend his Ranfom, And being Enfranchized, bid him come to me; 'Tis not enough to help the feeble up, But to fupport him after. Fare you well. Mef. All Happiness to your Honour. [Exit. Enter Enter an Old Athenian. 0. Ath. Lord Timon, hear me fpeak. Tim. Freely, good Father. 0. Ath. Thou haft a Servant nam'd Lucilius. Tim. I have fo: What of him? 0. Ath. Most Noble Timon, call the Man before thee. Tim. Attends he here or no? Lucilius. Enter Lucilius. Lucil. Here, at your Lordship's Service. 0. Ath. This Fellow here, Lord Timon, this thy Creature By Night frequents my Houfe. I am a Man That from my firft have been inclin'd to Thrift, And my Eftate deferves an Heir more rais'd, Than one which holds a Trencher. Tim: Well: What further? 0. Ath. One only Daughter have I, no Kin else, Tim. The Man is honeft. O. Ath. Therefore he will be, Timon, Tim. Does the love him? O. Ath. She is young, and apt: Our own precedent Paffions do inftruct us, Tim. Love you the Maid? Lucil. Ay, my good Lord, and the accepts of it. Mine Heir from forth the Beggars of the World, Tim. How fhall fhe be endowed, If the be mated with an equal Husband? O. Ath. Three Talents on the prefent, in future all. To |