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SCENE I. Athens. A hall in Timon's house.
Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and
others, at several doors.
I am glad you are well.
world? Pain. It wears, sir, as it grows. Poet.
Ay, that's well known:
Pain. I know them both; t'other's a jeweller.
Nay, that's most fix'd. Mer. A most incomparable man; breath'd*, as it
Inured by constant practice.
To an untirable and continuate goodness:
Jcw. . I have a jewel here.
'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 dedi
cation 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 fint Shows not, till it be struck; our gentle flame Provokes itself, and, like the current, fies Each bound it chafes. What have you there? Pain. A picture, sir. And when comes your book
'Tis a good piece.
Admirable: How this grace
Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life. Here is a touch; Is't good ?
• For continual.
As soon as my book has been presented to Timon. Poet.
I'll say of it,
Enter certain Senators, and pass over.
Pain. How shall I understand you?
I'll upbolt to you.
I saw them speak together.
• i. e. The contest of art with nature.
+ My design does not stop at any particular character.
One who shows by reflection the looks of his pa. tron,
Poet. Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill, Feign'd Fortune to be thron'd: The base o'the mount Is rank'd with all deserts, all kind of natures, That labour on the bosom of this sphere To propagate their states* : amongst them all, Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady fix'd, One do I personate of lord Timon's frame, Whom Fortune with her ivory land wafts to her; Whose present grace to present slaves and servants Translates his rivals. Pain.
'Tis conceiv'd to scope.
Nay, sir, but hear me on:
Ay, marry, what of these?
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 eyes g have seen The foot above the head.
• To advance their conditions of life. + Whisperings of officious servility.
Inhale, si. e. Inferior spectators.
Trumpets sound. Enter Timon, attended ; the
Servant of Ventidius talking with him.
Imprison'd is he, say you? Ven. Sero. Ay, my good lord: five talents is his
debt; His means most short, his creditors most strait: Your honourable letter he desires To those have shut him up; which falling to him, Periods his comfort. Tim.
Noble Ventidius! Well ;
Ven. Serv. Your lordship ever binds him.
Enter an old Athenian,
Old Ath. Lord Timon, hear me speak.
Freely, good father.
thee. Tim. Attends he here, or no?—Lucilius !
Luc. Here, at your lordship's service.