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O F

ATHENS

A

TRAGEDY.

Printed in the YEAR 1709.

T

Imon, A Noble Athenian.

Lucius,

Lucullus, Two flattering Lords. Apemantus, a churlish Philofopher. Sempronius, another flattering Lord, Alcibiades, an Athenian General. Flavius, Steward to Timon.

Flaminius,

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Hortenfius,

Ventidius, one of Timon's falfe Friends.
Cupid and Maskers.

Prinia,

Timandra, Mistresses to Alcibiades.

Thieves, Senators, Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Mercer and Merchant; with divers Servants and Attendants.

SCENE Athens, and the Woods not far from it.

ΤΙΜΟΝ

T 1 MON

O F

ATHENS

ACTI. SCENE I.

SCENE A Hall in Timon's House. Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and Mercer, at feveral Doors.

POE T.

OOD Day, Sir.

Pain, I am glad ye are well.

Poet. I have not feen you long, how goes

the World?

Pain. It wears, Sir, as it grows.

Poet. Ay, that's well known.

But what particular Rarity? What so strange,
Which manifold record not matches: See
Magick of Bounty, all these Spirits, thy Power
Hath conjur'd to attend.

I know the Merchant.

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Pain. I know them both, th'other's a Jeweller.
Mer. O'tis a worthy Lord.
Jew. Nay, that's most fixt.

Mer. A moft incomparable Man, breath'd as it were,
To an untirable and continuate Goodnefs:

He paffes

Few. I have a Jewel here.

Mer. O pray let's fee't. For the Lord Timon, Sir? Jew. If he will touch the Eftimate, but for thatPoet. When we for recompence have prais'd the vild, It stains the Glory in that happy Verle,

Which aptly fings the good.

Mer. 'Tis a good form.

Jew. And rich; here is Water, look ye.

Pain. You are rapt, Sir, in fome Work, fome Dedication

to the great Lord.

Poet. A thing flipt idly from me.

Our Poefie is as a Gown, which uses

From whence 'tis nourifht: The fire i'th' Flint
Shews not 'till it be ftruck: Our gentle Flame
Provokes it fulf, and like the current flies

Each bound it chafes. What have you there?

Pain. A Picture, Sir:-When comes your Book forth? Poet. Upon the Heels of my Presentment, Sir.

Let's fee 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 ftanding; what a mental Power
This Eye fhoots forth? How big Imagination
Moves in this Lip; to th' dumbness of the Gefture,
One might interpret.

Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the Life:
Here is a touch-Is't good?

Poet. I will fay of it,

It tutors Nature, artificial Strife

Lives in thefe touches livelier than Life.

Enter certain Senators.

Pain. How this Lord is followed!

Poet.

Poet. The Senators of Athens, happy Men.

Pain. Look, more.

Poet. You fee this confluence, this great flood of Vifiters, I have, in this rough Work, fhap'd out a Man, Whom this beneath World doth embrace and hug With ampleft Entertainment: My free drift Halts not particularly, but moves it felf In a wide Sea of Wax, no levell'd Malice Infects one Comma in the Course I hold, But flies an Eagle flight, bold, and forth on, Leaving no Trat behind.

Pain. How fhall I understand
Poet. I will unbolt to you.

you ?

You fee how all Conditions, how all Minds,
As well of glib and flipp'ry Creatures, as
Of grave and auftere 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 forts of Hearts; yea, from the glafs-fac'd Flatterer
To Apemantus, that few things loves better
Than to abhor himself, even he drops down
The Knee before him, and returns in peace
Moft rich in Timon's Ned.

Pain. I faw them fpeak together. >

7

Poet. Sir, I have upon a high and pleafant Hill
Feign'd Fortune to be thron'd. The base o'th' Mount
Is rank'd with all Deferts, all kind of Natures,
That labour on the bofom of this Sphere,
To propagate their States; amongst them all,
Whofe Eyes are on this Sovereign Lady fixt,
One do I perfonate of Lord Timon's frame,
Whom Fortune with her Ivory Hand wafts to her,
Whose present Grace, to present Slaves and Servants
Tranflates his Rivals.

Pain. 'Tis conceiv'd, to scope

This Throne, this Fortune, and this Hill, methinks
With one Man beckn'd from the rest below,

Bowing his Head against the steepy Mount,

To

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