To climb his Happiness, would be well expreft Poet. Nay, Sir, but hear me on: All those which were his Fellows but of late, Make facred even his Stirrop, and through him Pain. Ay marry, what of these? Poet. When Fortune in her shift and change of Mood Spurns down her late beloved; all his Dependants, Which labour'd after him to the Mountain's top, Even on their Knees and Hands, let him flip down, Not one accompanying his declining Foot, Pain. 'Tis common: A thousand moral Paintings I can fhew, That shall demonftrate thefe quick blows of Fortune, Trumpets found. Enter Lord Timon addressing himself cour teously to every Suitor. Tim. Imprifoned is he, fay you? [To a Messenger. To thofe have fhut him up, which failing to him, Tim. Noble Ventidius! well I am not of that Feather, to shake off My Friend when he most needs me. I do know him Which he fhall have. I'll pay the Debt, and free him. Tim. Commend me to him, I will fend his Ransom, Mef. All Happinefs to your Honour. [Exit. Enter Enter an Old Athenian. 0. Ath. Lord Timon, hear me fpeak. Tim. Freely, good Father. 0. Ath. Thou haft a Servant nam'd Lucilius. Tim. I have fo: What of him? O. Ath. Moft Noble Timon, call the Man before thee. Enter Lucilius. Lucil. Here, at your Lordship's Service. O. Ath. This Fellow here, Lord Timon, this thy Creature By Night frequents my Houfe. I am a Man That from my firft have been inclin'd to Thrift, And my Eftate deferves an Heir more rais'd, Then one which holds a Trencher. Tim. Well: What further? 0. Ath. One only Daughter have I, no Kin else, Tim. The Man is honeft. 0. Ath. Therefore he will be, Timon, O. Ath. She is young, and apt: Our own precedent Paffions do inftru&t us, Tim. Love you the Maid? Lucil. Ay, my good Lord, and the accepts of it. O. Ath. If in her Marriage my confent be miffing, I call the Gods to witnefs, I will chufe Mine Heir from forth the Beggars of the World, Tim. How fhall fhe be endowed, If she be mated with an equal Husband? 0. Ath. Three Talents on the prefent, in future all. Tim. This Gentleman of mine hath ferv'd me long; Το To build his Fortune I will strain a little, O. Ath. Moft noble Lord, Pawn me to this your Honour, fhe is his. Tim. My Hand to thee, Mine Honour on my Promife. Luc. Humbly I thank your Lordship: never may Poet. Vouchsafe my Labour, And long live your Lordship. Tim. I thank you, you fhall hear from me anon: Go not away. What have you there, my Friend? Pain. A piece of Painting, which I do befeech Your Lordship to accept. Tim. Painting is welcome. The Painting is almoft the natural Man: For fince Dishonour trafficks with Man's Nature, Even fuch as they give out. I like your work, And you fhall find I like it: Wait Attendance Till you hear further from me. Pain. The Gods preferve ye. [Exit. Tim. Well fare you Gentleman; Give me your Hand, We must needs dine together: Sir, your Jewel Hath fuffered under Praife. Jew. What my Lord? difpraife? Tim. A meer fatiety of Commendations, Jew. My Lord, 'tis rated As thofe which fell would give: But you well know, Are priz'd fo by their Mafters. Believ't, dear Lord, You mend the Jewel by the wearing it. Tim. Well mock'd. Enter Apemantus. Mer. No, my good Lord, he speaks the common Tongue, Which all Men fpeak with him. Tim: Look who comes here, will you be chid? Mer. He'll fpare none. Tim. Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus. Apem. 'Till I be gentle, ftay thou for thy good morrow. Apem. Are they not Athenians? Apem. Then I repent not. Jew. You know me, Apemantus. Apem. Thou know'ft I do, I call'd thee by thy Name. Tim. Thou art proud, Apemantus. Apem. Of nothing fo much, as that I am not like Timon. Tim. Whither art going? Apem. To knock out an honeft Athenians Brains Tim. That's a deed thou'lt die for. Apem. Right, if doing nothing be Death by the Law. Tim. How lik'ft thou this Picture, Apemantus? Apem. The beft, for the Innocence. Tim. Wrought he not well that Painted it? Apem. He wrought better that made the Painter, and yet he's but a filthy piece of work. Pain. Y'are a Dog. Apem. Thy Mother's of my Generation: What's fhe, If I be a Dog? Tim. Wilt dine with me, Apemantus ? Apem. No, I eat not Lords. Tim. And thou should'ft, thoud'ft Apem. O, they eat Lords, So they come by great Bellies. anger Ladies. Tim. That's a lafcivious apprehenfion. Apem. So thou apprehend'st it. Take it for thy Labour. Tim. How doft thou like this Jewel, Apemantus? Apem. Not fo well as plain-dealing, which will not coft a Man a Doit. Tim. What doft thou think 'tis worth? S Apem. Apem. Not worth my thinking. Poet. How now, Philofopher? Poet. Art thou one? Poet. Then I lie not. Apem. Then thou lieft: Look in thy last work, where thou haft feign'd him a worthy Fellow. Poet. That's not feign'd, he is fo. Apem. Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay thee for thy Labour. He that loves to be flattered is worthy o'th' flatterer. Heav'ns, that I were a Lord! Tim. What would't do then, Apemantus? Apem. Ev'n as Apemantus does now, hate a Lord with my Heart. Tim. What, thy felf? Apem. Ay. Tim. Wherefore? Apem. That I had no angry wit to be a Lord. Art not thou a Merchant? Mer. Ay, Apemantus. Apem. Traffick confound thee, if the Gods will not. Apem. Traffick's thy God, and thy God confound thee, Tim. What Trumpet's that? Mef. 'Tis Alcibiades, and fome twenty Horse, Tim. Pray entertain them, give them guide to us; Moft welcome Sir. Apem. So, fo, their Aches contract, and ftarve your fupple Joynts: That there fhould be fmall Love amongst these sweet |