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Vol. V.

Timon, a noble Athenian.
Lucullus, Lords, and flatterers of Timon.
Ventidius, one of Timon's false Friends.
Apemantus, a churlish Philosopher.
Alcibiades, an Athenian General.
Flavius, Steward to Timon.
Lucilius, S Timon's Servants.

Servants to Timon's Creditors.
Hortensius, į
Two Servants of Varro, and the Servant of Ifidore; two. of

Timon's Creditors.
Cupid and Maskers. Three Strangers.
Poet, Painter, Jeweller, and Merchant.
An old Athenian. A Page. A Fool.


Phrynia, lm
Timandra, S »

{ Mistresses to Alcibiades.

Other Lords, Senators, Officers, Soldiers, Thieves, and At


SCENE, Athens; and the Woods adjoining.


ACT 1. SCENE I. Athens. A Hall in Timon's House. Enter Poei, Painter, JEWELLER, Merchant, and

Others, at several doors.

Poet. Good day, sir. Pain. I am glad you are well: Poet. I have not seen you long; How goes the world? Pain. It wears, fir, as it grows. Poet. Ay, that's well known: But what particular rarity ? what strange, Which manifold record not matches ? See, Magick of bounty! all these spirits thy power Hath conjur'd to attend. I know the merchant.

Pain. I know them both; t'other's a jeweller.
Mer. O, 'tis a worthy lord !
Jew. Nay, that's most fix’d.
Mer. A most incomparable man; breath’d, as it were,
To an untirable and continuate goodness :
He passes.

Jaw. I have a jewel here.
Mer.. O, pray, let's see't : For the lord Timon, fir ?
Jew. If he will touch the estimate : But, for that

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Poet. When we for recompense bave praisd the vile, It stains the glory in that happy verse IVhich aptly furigs the good. Mer. 'Tis a good form. [Looking on the jewel. Jew. And rich : here is a water, look you.

Pain. You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedication To the great lord.

Poet. A thing Nipp'd 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 conies your book forth?

Poet. Upon the heels of my presentment, fir.
Let's see your piece.

Pain. 'Tis a good piece.
Poet. So 'tis: this comes off well and excellent.
Pain, Indifferent.

Poet. Admirable: How this grace
Speaks his own standing! what a mental power
This eye shoots forth ! how big imagination
Moves in this lip! to the dumbness of the gesture.
One might interpret.

Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life.
Here is a touch ; Is’t good?

Poet. I'll 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's follow'd !
Poet. The senators of Athens ; _Happy men!
Pain. Look, more!

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