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To climb his Happiness, would be well expreft
In our Condition.

Poet. Nay, Sir, but hear me on:

All those which were his Fellows but of late,
Some better than his Value; on the moment
Follow his ftrides, his Lobbies fill with tendance,
Rain facrificial Whifperings in his Ear,

Make facred even his Stirrop, and through him
Drink the free Air.

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,
More pregnantly than Words. Yet you do well,
To fhew Lord Timon, that mean Eyes have seen,
The Foot above the Head.

Trumpets found. Enter Lord Timon addressing himself cour teously to every Suitor.

Tim. Imprifoned is he, fay you? [To a Messenger.
Mef. Ay, my good Lord, five Talents is his Debt,
His means most short, his Creditors most straight:
Your honourable Letter he defires

To thofe have fhut 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 most needs me. I do know him
A Gentleman that well deferves a help,

Which he fhall have. I'll pay the Debt, and free him.
Mef. Your Lordship ever binds him.

Tim. Commend me to him, I will fend his Ransom,
And being Enfranchized, bid him come to me;
'Tis not enough to help the feeble up,
But to fupport him after. Fare you well.

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.
Tim. Attends he here or no? Lucilius.

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,
On whom I may confer what I have got:
The Maid is fair, o'th' youngest for a Bride,'
And I have bred her at my dearest coft,
In Qualities of the beft. This Man of thine
Attempts her Love: I pray thee, Noble Lord,
Join with me to forbid him her Refort;
My felf have fpoke in vain.

Tim. The Man is honeft.

0. Ath. Therefore he will be, Timon,
His honefty rewards him in it felf,
It must not bear my Daughter.
Tim. Does the love him?

O. Ath. She is young, and apt:

Our own precedent Paffions do inftru&t us,
What levity's in Youth.

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

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Mine Heir from forth the Beggars of the World,
And difpoffefs her all.

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,
For 'tis a Bond in Men. Give him thy Daughter:
What you bestow, in him I'll Counterpoife,
And make him weigh with her.

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
That State or Fortune fall into my keeping,
Which is not owed to you.

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,
He is but out-fide: The Penfil'd Figures are

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,
If I should pay you for't as 'tis extoll'd,
It would unclew me quite.

Jew. My Lord, 'tis rated

As thofe which fell would give: But you well know,
Things of like value differing in the Owners,

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?
Few. We'll bear with your Lordship.

Mer. He'll fpare none.

Tim. Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus.

Apem. 'Till I be gentle, ftay thou for thy good morrow.
When thou art Timen's Dog, and thefe Knaves honeft.
Tim. Why doft thou call them Knaves, thou know'ft
them not?

Apem. Are they not Athenians?
Tim. Yes.

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.
How now, Poet?

Poet. How now, Philofopher?
Apem. Thou lieft.

Poet. Art thou one?
Apem. Yes.

Poet. Then I lie not.
Apem. Art not a Poet?
Poet. Yes.

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.
Mer. If Traffick do it, the Gods do it.

Apem. Traffick's thy God, and thy God confound thee,
Trumpet Sounds. Enter a Messenger.

Tim. What Trumpet's that?

Mef. 'Tis Alcibiades, and fome twenty Horse,
All of Companionship.

Tim. Pray entertain them, give them guide to us;
You muft needs dine with me: Go not you hence
'Till I have thankt you; and when dinner's done
Shew me this piece. I am Joyful of your fights.
Enter Alcibiades with the reft.

Moft welcome Sir.

Apem. So, fo, their Aches contract, and ftarve your fupple Joynts: That there fhould be fmall Love amongst these

sweet

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