Mer. O, pray, let's see it: For the lord Timon, sir? Jew. If he will touch the estimate: But, for that Poet. When we for recompense have prais'd the vile, It stains the glory in that happy verse Which aptly sings 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 slipp'd idly from me. Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes From whence 'tis nourished: The fire i'the flint Poet. Upon the heels of my presentment, sir. 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! Poet. You see this confluence, this great flood of visitors. I have, in this rough work, shap'd out a man, In a wide sea of wax: no levell'd malice But flies an eagle flight, bold, and forth on, Pain. How shall I understand you? I'll unbolt to you. You see how all conditions, how all minds, (As well of glib and slippery creatures, as Of grave and austere quality,) tender down Their services to lord Timon: his large fortune, Upon his good and gracious nature hanging, Subdues and properties to his love and tendance All sorts of hearts; yea, from the glass-fac'd flat terer To Apemantus, that few things loves better Most rich in Timon's nod. Pain. I saw them speak together. 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, Pain. 'Tis conceiv'd to scope. This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks, 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 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 for tune More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well, To show lord Timon, that mean eyes have seen The foot above the head. Trumpets sound. Enter Timon, attended; the Servant of Ventidius talking with him. Tim. Imprison'd is he, say you? Ven. Serv. Ay, my good lord: five talents is his debt; His means most short, his creditors most strait: To those have shut him up; which failing to him, Periods his comfort. Tim. Noble Ventidius! Well; I am not of that feather, to shake off My friend when he must need me. I do know him A gentleman, that well deserves a help, Which he shall have: I'll pay the debt, and free him. Ven. Serv. Your lordship ever binds him. Tim. Commend me to him: I will send his ran som; And, being enfranchis'd, bid him come to me:- [Exit. Enter an old Athenian. Old Ath. Lord Timon, hear me speak. Tim. Freely, good father. Old Ath. Thou hast a servant nam'd Lucilius. Tim. I have so: What of him? Old Ath. Most noble Timon, call the man be fore 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 inclin'd to thrift; Than one which holds a trencher. Tim. Well; what further? Old Ath. One only daughter have I, no kin else, On whom I may confer what I have got: The maid is fair, o'the youngest for a bride, And I have bred her at my dearest cost, In qualities of the best. This man of thine Attempts her love: I pr'ythee, noble lord, Join with me to forbid him her resort; Myself have spoke in vain. Tim. The man is honest. Old Ath. Therefore he will be, Timon: His honesty rewards him in itself, It must not bear my daughter. Tim. Does she love him? |