Which he shall 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 enfranchiz'd, bid him come to me; 'Tis not enough to help the feeble up, But to fupport him after. Fare you well. Mef. All happiness to your honour!

Enter an old Athenian.

Old Ath. Lord Timon. hear me speak.
Tim. Freely good father.

Old Ath. Thou haft á fervant nam'd' Lucilius.

Tim. I have fo: what of him?

[Exit.

Old Ath. Moft noble Timon, call the man before thee.

Tim. Attends he here or no? Lucilius!

Enter Lucilius.

Luc. Here, at your lordship's fervice.

[creature

Old Ath. This fellow here, lord Timon, this thy

By night frequents my houfe. I am a man.
That from my first have been inclin'd to thrift,
And my eftate deferves an heir more rais'd,
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'th' youngest for a bride, And I have bred her at my dearest cost, 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; Myself have spoke in vain.

Tim. The man is honeft.

Old Ath. Therefore he will be, Timon.

His honefty rewards him in itfelf,
It must not bear my daughter.
Tim. Does fhe love him?

Old Ath. She is young and apt:

Our own precedent paffions do inftru&t us,

What

What levity's in youth.

Tim. Love you the maid?

Luc. Ay, my good lord, and she accepts of it.

Old Ath. If in her marriage my confent be miffing, I call the Gods to witness, I will chufe

Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world,
And difpoffefs her all.

Tim. How fhall he be endowed,

If she be mated with an equal husband?

Old Ath. Three talents on the prefent, in future all. Tim. This gentleman of mine hath ferv'd me long; To build his fortune I will ftrain a little,

For 'tis a bond in men. Give him thy daughter:
What you beftow, in him I'll counterpoise,
And make him weigh with her.

Old Ath. Most noble lord,

Pawn me to this your honour, fhe is his.

[mise. Tim. My hand to thine, mine honour on my proLuc. Humbly I thank your Lordship: never may That ftate, or fortune, fall into my keeping,

Which is not own'd to you.

[Exeunt Lucilius and old Athenian. Poet. Vouchfafe my labour, and long live your lordship!

Tim. I thank you, you shall 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 difhonour trafficks with man's nature,

He is but outside; pencil'd figures are

Ev'n fuch as they give out.

I like your Work;

And fhall find, I like it: wait attendance you

hear further from me.

Pain. The Gods preserve ye!

[hand,

Tim. Well fare you, gentleman; give me your We must needs dine together: Sir, your jewel

Jew.

Hath fuffer'd under praife.

Jew. What, my lord? difpraise ?

Tim. A mere fatiety of commendations:
If I fhould 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 by their mafters priz'd; Believe't, dear lord,
You mend the jewel by the wearing it.

Tim. Well mock'd.

Mer. No, my good lord, he speaks the common tongue,

Which all men speak with him.

Tim. Look, who comes here.

Will you be chid?

Jew. We'll bear it with your lordship.
Mer. He'll fpare none.

Tim. Good-morrow to thee gentle Apemantus!
Apem. Till I be gentle, ftay for thy good morrow.

*

*

*

Apem. When thou art Timon's dog, and thefe knaves honeft.

Tim. Why doft thou call them knaves, thou know'st them not.

*Tim. Good morrow to thee gentle Apemantus"!

Apem. Till I be gentle, ftay for thy good morrow;

When thou art Timon's dog and these knaves honeft.] The first Line of Apemantus's Anfwer is to the Purpofe; the second abfurd and nonfenfical; which proceeds from the Lofs of a Speech dropt from between them, that should be thus restored,

Tim. Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus!
Apem. 'Till I be gentle, flay for thy good morrow.
[Poet. When will that be?]

Apem. When thou art Timon's dog, and these knaves honest.
VOL. VII.

G

Warb.

Арет

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 Athenian's 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.

Paint. 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. If thou fhould'st, thou'dft anger ladies.
Apem. O, they eat lords; fo they come by great

bellies.

Tim. That's a lafcivious apprehenfion.

Apem. So thou apprehend'ft 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?

Apem. Not worth my thinking-How now, Poet? Poet. How now, Philofopher?

Apem. Thou lieft.

Poet. Art thou not one?

Apem. Yes.

Poet.

Poet. Then I lie not.

Apem. Art not a Poet?

Poet. Yes.

Apem. Then thou lieft: look in thy laft work, where thou haft feign'd him a worthy fellow. Poet. That's not feign'd, he is fo.

Apem. Yes, he is worthy o' 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'ft do then, Apemantus?

Apem. Ev'n as Apemantus does now, hate a lord with my heart.

Tim. What, thyself?
Apem. Ay.

Tim. Wherefore?

Apem.* That I had fo hungry a wit, to be a lord.— Art thou not a Merchant?

Mer. Ay, Apemantus.

Apem. Traffic confound thee, if the Gods will not! Mer. If traffic do it, the Gods do it.

[thee!

Apem. Traffic's thy God, and thy God confound

Trumpets found. Enter a Messenger.

Tim. What trumpet's that?

Mef. 'Tis Alcibiades, and fome twenty horfe All of companionship.

Tim. Pray, entertain them, give them guide to us, You must needs dine with me: go not you hence, 'Till I have thankt you, and when dinner's done, Shew me this piece. I'm joyful of your fights.

Enter Alcibiades with the reft.

Moft welcome, Sir! [Bowing and embracing. Apem. So, fo! Aches contract, and ftarve, your fupple joints! that there fhould be small love amongst

That I had no angry wit to be a lord.] This reading is abfurd, and unintelligible. But, as I have reftor'd the Text, it is fatirical en ough of Confcience, viz. I would hate myself, for having no ore wit than to covet fo infignificant a Title. Warburton.

m

G 2

thefe