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Have sent thee treasure. Go, live rich and happy :
But thus condition'd; Thou shalt build from men :
Hate all, curse all, shew charity to none ;
But let the familh'd flesh flide from the bone,
Ere thou relieve the beggar. Give to dogs
What thou deny'st to men. Let prisons swallow 'em,
Debts wither 'em ; be men like blasted woods,
And may diseases lick

up

their false bloods ! And so farewel, and thrive.

Flav. O, let me ftay, and comfort you, my master.

Tim. If thou hat'st curses,
Stay not, but fly, whilst thou art bleft and free;
Ne'er see thou man, and let me ne'er see thee.

[Exeunt severally, Enter Poet and Painter. Pain. As I took note of the place, it can't be far where he abides.

Poet. What's to be thought of himi does the rumour hold for true, that he's so full of gold?

Pain. Certain. Alcibiades reports it: Phrynia and Timandra had gold of him : he likewise enrich'd poor stragling foldiers with great quantity. 'Tis said, he gave his steward a mighty sum.

Poet. Then this breaking of his has been but a tryal for his friends?

Pain. Nothing else: you fhall see him a palm in Athens again, and flourish with the highest. Therefore, 'tis not amiss, we tender our loves to him, in this fuppos’d distress of his : it will shew honestly in us, and is very likely to load our purposes with what they travel for, if it be a just and true report that goes of his having.

Poet. What have you now to present unto him?

Pain. Nothing at this time but my visitation : only I will promise him an excellent piece.

Poet. I must serve him so too ; tell him of an intent that's coming toward him.

Pain. Good as the best : Promising is the very air o'th' time; it opens the eyes of expectation, Performance is ever the duller for his act, and, but in the

plainer

plainer and fimpler kind of people, the deed is quite Out of use. To promise, is most courtly, and fashionable ; performance is a kind of will or testament, which argues a great fickness in his judgment that makes it.

Re enter Timon from his cave, unseen. Tim. Excellent workman! thou canst not paint a man so bad as thyself.

Poet. I am thinking, what I shall say I have provided for him : it must be a personating of himself ; a satire against the softness of prosperity, with a discovery of the infinite flatteries that follow youth and opulency.

Tim. Muit thou needs stand for a villain in thine own work? wilt thou whip thine own faults in other men ? do so, I have gold for thee.

Poet. Nay, let's seek him.
Then do we fin against our own estate,
When we may profit meet, and come too late.

Pain, True.
Poet. While the day serves, before black-corner'd

night, (35)
Find what thou want'st, by free and offer'd light..
Come,

Tim. I'll meet you at the turnWhat a god's gold, that he is worshipped In baler temples, than where swine do feed ! 'Tis thou that rigg'ft the bark, and plow'st the wave, (36) Settleft admired rev'rence in a slave; To thee be worship, and thy saints for aye Be crown’d with plagues, that thee alone obey ! 'Tis fit I meet them.

Poet. Hail ! worthy Timon. Pain. Our late noble malter. (35) Wbile tbe day serves, &c.] This couplet in all the editions is placed to the painter, but, as it is in rhyme, and a fequel of the senti: ment begun by the poet, I have made no scruple to ascribe it to him.

(36) 'Tis thou that rigg'A the bark, and plow'st the foam, Settlest admired rev’rer.ce in a fave ;] As both the couplets preceding, and following this, are in rhyme, I am very apt to suspect, the rhyme is dismounted here by an accidental corruption; and therefore have ventur'd to replace wave in the room of foam.

Tim. Have I once liv'd to see two honeft men ?

Poet. Sir, having often of your bounty tafted,
Hearing you were retir'd, your friends faľn off,
Whose thankless natures, oh abhorred spirits !
Not all the whips of heav'n are large enough
What! to you!
Whose star-like nobleness gave life and influence
To their whole being! I am rapt, and cannot
Cover the monstrous bulk of this ingratitude
With

any

fize of words.
Tim. Let it go naked, men may see't the better : (37)
You that are honest, by being what you are,
Make them best seen and known.

Pain. He, and myself,
Have travell’d in the great shower of your gifts,
And sweetly felt it.

Tim. Ay, you're honeft men.
Pain. We're hither come to offer you our service.

Tim. Moft honeft men ! why, how shall I requite you?
Can you eat roots, and drink cold water? no.
Both. What we can do, we'll do, to do you

service. Tim. Y'are honest men ; you've heard, that I have gold; I'm sure, you have ; speak truth, y'are honest men.

Pain. So it is said, my noble Lord, but therefore Came not my friend, nor I.

Tim. Good honeft man ; thou draw'ft a counterfeit Beft in all Athens ; thou'rt, indeed, the best ; Thou counterfeit'st moft lively.

Pain. So, fo, my Lord.

(37) Let it go, naked men may feet the better ;] Thus has this paffage been stupidly pointed thro' all the editions, as if naked men could fee better than men in their cloaths. I think verily, if there were any room to credit the experiment, such editors ought to go naked for the improvement of their eye-lights. But, perhaps, they have as little faith as judgment in their own readings. The poet, in the preeeding speech, haranguing on the ingratitude of Timon's false friends, says, he cannot cover the monstrousness of it with any fize of words ; to which Timon, as I have rectified the pointing, very aptly replies i Let it

go

naked, -men may see't tbe better. So, our poet in his Much Ado about Nothing.

Why seek't thou then to cover with excuse
That, which appears in proper nakedness.

Tim. E'en so, Sir, as I say-And for thy fiction,
Why, thy verse swells with stuff so fine and smooth,
That thou art even natural in thine art.
But for all this, my honeft-natur'd friends,
I must needs say, you have a little fault;
Marry, not monstrous in you; neither with I.
You take much pains to mend.

Both. Beseech your honour
To make it known to us.

Tim. You'll take it ill.
Both. Most thankfully, my Lord.
Tim. Will you, indeed ?
Both. Doubt it not, worthy Lord.

Tim. There's ne'er a one of you but trusts a knave, That mightily deceives you.

Both. Do we, my Lord ?

Tim. Ay, and you hear him cogg, see him dissemble,
Know his gross patchery, love him; and feed him ;
Keep in your bosom, yet remain affur'd,
That he's a made-up villain.

Pain. I know none such, my Lord.
Poet. Nor I.

Tim. Look you, I love you well, I'll give you gold,
Rid me these villains from your companies ;
Hang them, or ftab them, drown them in a draught,
Confound them by fome course, and come to me,
l'll give you gold enough.

Both. Name them, my Lord, let's know them.

Tim. You that way, and you this;--but two in company. Each man apart, all fingle and alone, Yet an arch villain keeps him company. If where thou art, two villains shall not be, [To the Painter. Come not near him.-If thou wouldīt not reside [Tathe Poet. But where one villain is, then him abandon. Hence, pack, there's gold; ye came for gold, ye flaves; You have work for me; there's your payment, hence ! You are an alchymist, make gold of that: Out, rascal dogs! [Beating, and driving 'em out.

Enter

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Enter Flavius and two Senators.
Flav. It is in vain that you would speak with Timon :
For he is set so only to himself,
That nothing but himself, which looks like man,
Is friendly with him.

i Sen. Bring us to his cave.
It is our part and promise to th' Athenians
To speak with Timon.

2 Sen. At all times alike
Men are not still the same ; 'twas time and griefs
That fram'd him thus. Time, with his fairer hand
Offering the fortunes of his former days,
The former man may make him ; bring us to him,
And chance it as it may.

Flav. Here is his cave:
Peace and content be here, Lord Timon ! Timon !
Look out, and speak to friends: thAthenians
By two of their most rev'rend senate greet thee ;
Speak to them, noble Timon.

Enter Timon out of his Cave.
Tim. Thou sun, that comfort'it, burn!-
Speak, and be hang'd ;
For each true word a blister, and each false
Be cauterizing to the root o'th' tongue,
Consuming it with speaking.

i Sen. Worthy Timon,
Tim.-Of none but such as you, and you of Tirron,
2 Sen. The Senators of Athens greet thee, Timon.

Tim. I thank them. And would send them back the Could I but catch it for them.

[plague, i Sen. O, forget What we are sorry for ourselves, in thee : The Senators, with one consent of love, Intreat thee back to Athens; who have thought On special dignities, which vacant lie For thy best use and wearing.

2 Sen. They confess -Tow'rd thee forgetfulness, too general, grofs; 3

Which

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