Poet. A thing slipped idly from me. Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes From whence 'tis nourished. The fire i' the flint Shows not, till it be struck; our gentle flame Provokes itself, and, like the current, flies Each bound it chafes. What have you there? Pain. A picture, sir.-And when comes your book forth? 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. Poet. Admirable. How this grace Speaks his own standing? what a mental power Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life. Here is a touch; is't good? Poet. It tutors nature; artificial strife I'll say of it, Lives in these touches, livelier than life. Enter certain Senators, and pass over. Pain. How this lord's followed! 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, shaped out a man, Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug Pain. How shall I understand you? You see how all conditions, how all minds, Than to abhor himself; even he drops down Pain. I saw them speak together. To propagate their states. Amongst them all, Whom Fortune with her ivory hand wafts to her; Pain. 'Tis conceived to scope. Poet. Nay, sir, but hear me on. Make sacred even his stirrup, and through him Pain. Ay, marry, what of these? Poet. When Fortune, in her shift and change of mood, Spurns down her late beloved, and all his dependants, Which labored 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 Tim. Imprisoned is he, say you? Ven. Serv. Ay, my good lord: five talents is his debt; His means most short, his creditors most strait. Your honorable letter he desires 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 Which he shall have. I'll pay the debt, and free him. Tim. Commend me to him; I will send his ransom; And, being enfranchised, bid him come to me:- But to support him after.- Fare you well. Enter an old Athenian. [Exit. Freely, good father. Old Ath. Lord Timon, hear me speak. Tim. Old Ath. Thou hast a servant named 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 creature, By night frequents my house. I am a man That from my first have been inclined to thrift; And my estate deserves an heir more raised, Tim. Well; what further? Old Ath. One only daughter have I, no kin else, The man is honest. Tim. His honesty rewards him in itself, It must not bear my daughter. Tim. Does she love him? Old Ath. She is young, and apt: Tim. [To LUCILIUS.] Love you the maid? Luc. Ay, my good lord, and she accepts of it. Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world, Tim. How shall she be endowed, If she be mated with an equal husband? Old Ath. Three talents, on the present; in future, all. Tim. This gentleman of mine hath served me long: To build his fortune, I will strain a little, For 'tis a bond in men. Give him thy daughter; And make him weigh with her. Old Ath. Most noble lord, Pawn me to this your honor, she is his. Tim. My hand to thee; mine honor on my promise. Luc. Humbly I thank your lordship. Never may That state or fortune fall into my keeping, Which is not owed to you! [Exeunt LUCILIUS and old Athenian. Poet. Vouchsafe my labor, 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. Tim. Pain. Hath suffered under praise. Jew. What, my lord? dispraise? Tim. A mere satiety of commendations. If I should pay you for it as 'tis extolled, It would unclew me quite. Jew. My lord, 'tis rated As those, which sell, would give. But you well know, Are prized by their masters: believe't, dear lord, Tim. Well mocked. 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? Enter APEMANTUS. 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 thou 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. Apem. Are they not Athenians? Tim. Yes. Apem. Then I repent not. Jew. You know me, Apemantus. Apem. Thou know'st, I do: I called thee by thy name. Tim. Thou art proud, Apemantus. Apem. Of nothing so much, as that I am not like Timon. Apem. To knock out an honest Athenian's brains. Apem. Right, if doing nothing be death by the law. Apem. The best for the innocence. Tim. Wrought he not well, that painted it? Apem. He wrought better, that made the painter; and yet he's but a filthy piece of work. Pain. You are a dog. Apem. Thy mother's of my generation. What's she, if I be a dog? Tim. Wilt dine with me, Apemantus? Apem. No; I eat not lords. Pain. An thou shouldst, thou'dst anger ladies. Apem. O, they eat lords: so they come by great bellies. Tim. That's a lascivious apprehension. Apem. So thou apprehend'st it. Take it for thy labor. Tim. How dost thou like this jewel, Apemantus? Apem. Not so well as plain-dealing, which will not cost a man a doit. Tim. What dost thou think 'tis worth? Apem. Not worth my thinking.-How now, poet? Apem. Thou liest. Poet. Art not one? |