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Enter certain Senators.
Poet. You see this confluence, this great flood of vifiters.
Pain. How shall I understand you?
Poet. I'll unbolt to you.
Pain. I saw them speak together.
Poet. I have upon a high and pleasant hill Feign'd Fortune to be thron'd. The base o'th' moume 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 fov'reign Lady fixt, One do I personate of Timon's frame, Whom Fortune with her iv'ry hand wafts to her,
(2) Happy men !) Thus the printed copies : but I cannot think the poet meant, that the senators were happy in being admitted to Timon; their quality might command that: but that Timon was happy in being follow'd, and caress’d, by those of their rank and dignity.
Whose present grace to present slaves and servants
Pain. 'Tis conceiv’d to th’ scope. (3)
Poet. Nay, but hear me on :
Pain. Ay, marry, what of these ?
Poet. When Fortune in her lift and change of mood
Pain. 'Tis common :
(3) 'Tis conceiv'd, to scope
This throne, this fortune, Thus all the editors hitherto have nonsensically writ, and pointed, this passage. But, sure, the painter would tell the poet, Your conception, Sir, hits the very scope you aim at. This the Greeks would have render'd, rõ oxotrŐ TUXE", re&ta ad fcopum tendis: and Cicero has thus express’d on the like occasion, Signum oculis deftinatum feris. This sense our author, in his Henry 8th, expresies;
I think, you've bit the mark.
Him, and his worth, and our great need of him,
Trumpets found. Enter Timon, addressing himself courteously
to every suitor. Tim. Imprison'd is he, say you? [To a Messenger Mes. Ay, my good Lord ; five talents is his debt, His means moft short, his creditors most strait : Your honourable letter he desires To those have shụt him up, which failing to him Periods bis comfort.
Tim. Noble Ventidius! well I am not of that feather to shake off My friend when he most needs me. I do know him A gentleman that well deserves a help, Which he shall have. I'll pay the debt, and free him.
Mes. Your Lordship ever binds him.
Tim. Commend me to him, I will send his ransom ; And, being enfranchiz'd, bid him come to me; 'Tis not enough to help the feeble up, But to support him after. Fare
well. Mef. All happiness to your honour !
Old Ath. This fellow here, Lord Timon, this thy creature
estate deserves an heir more rais'd, Than one which holds a trencher.
Tim. Well: what further ?
Old Ath. One only daughter have I, no kin else,
And I have bred her at my dearest cost,
l'im. The man is honest.
Oid Ath. Therefore he will be, Tiinor. (4)
Tim. Does the love him ?
Old Ath. She is young, and apt:
Tim. Love you the maid :
Old Aih. If in her marriage my consent be misfing,
Tim. How shall she be endowed,
Old Ath. Three talents on the present, in future all.
Tim. This gentleman of mine hath serv'd me long;
Old Aih. Most noble Lord,
Tim. My hand to thee, mine honour on my promise.
Luc. Humbly I thank your Lordship: never may
Poet. Vouchsafe my labour, and long live your Lordship !
(4) Therefore be will be, Timon.] The thought is closely express'd, and obscure : but this seems the meaning. “ If the man be honest,
my Lord, for that reason he will be so in this; and not endeavour at the injustice of gaining my daughter without my confent."
Go not away. What have you there, my friend?
Pain. A piece of painting, which I do beseech
Tim. Painting is welcome.
Mall find, I like it: wait attendance. 'Till you hear further from me.
Pain. The gods preserve ye! Tim. Well fare you, gentleman; give me your hand, We must needs dine together : Sir, your jewel Hath suffer'd under praise.
Jew. What, my Lord ? dispraise ?
Tim. A mere satiety of commendations.
Jew. My Lord, 'tis rated
Tim. Well mock’d.
Mer. No, my good Lord, he speaks the common tongue, Which all men speak with him. Tim. Look, who comes here,
Enter Apemantus. Will you
be chid? Jew. We'll bear it with your Lordship. Mer. He'll spare none. Tim. Good-morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus ! Apem. ’Till I be gentle, stay for thy good-morrow; When thou art Timon's dog, and these knaves honeft.
Tim. Why dost thou call them knaves, thou know'it Apem. Are they not Athenians ?
[them not? Tim. Yes. Apem. Then I repent not. Jew. You know me, Apemantus.