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, Hortenfius, Ventidius, one of Timon's falfe Friends. 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, I know the Merchant. Pain. I know them both, th'other's a Jeweller. Mer. A moft incomparable Man, breath'd as it were, 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 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. Poet. Admirable! How this Grace Speaks his own ftanding; what a mental Power Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the Life: 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 you ? You fee how all Conditions, how all Minds, Pain. I faw them fpeak together. > 7 Poet. Sir, I have upon a high and pleafant Hill Pain. 'Tis conceiv'd, to scope This Throne, this Fortune, and this Hill, methinks Bowing his Head against the steepy Mount, To |