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Poet. Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill, Feign'd Fortune to be thron'd: The base o'the mount Is rank'd with all deserts, all kind of natures, That labour on the bosom of this sphere To propagate their states: amongst them all, Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady fix'd, One do I personate of lord Timon's frame, Whom Fortune with her ivory hand wafts to her; Whose present grace to present slaves and servants Translates his rivals.
'Tis conceiv'd to scope.
This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks,
To climb his happiness, would be well express'd
Nay, sir, but hear me on:
All those which were his fellows but of late
Make sacred even his stirrup, and through him
Ay, marry, what of these? Poet. When Fortune, in her shift and change of
Spurus down her late-belov'd, all his dependants, Which labour'd after him to the mountain's top, Even on their knees and hands, let him slip down, Not one accompanying his declining foot.
Pain. 'Tis common:
A thousand moral paintings I can show
That shall demonstrate these quick blows of fortune
* To advance their conditions of life. + Whisperings of officious servility.
i. e. Inferior spectators.
Trumpets sound. Enter Timon, attended; the Servant of Ventidius talking with him.
Imprison'd is he, say you?
Ven. Serv. Ay, my good lord: five talents is his
His means most short, his creditors most strait:
To those have shut him up; which falling to him,
Noble Ventidius! Well;
I am not of that feather, to shake off
My friend when he must need me. I do know him A gentleman, that well deserves a help,
Which he shall have: I'll pay the debt, and free him. Ven. Serv. Your lordship ever binds him.
Tim. Commend me to him: I will send his ran
And, being enfranchis'd, bid him come to me:
"Tis not enough to help the feeble up,
But to support him after.-Fare you well.
Enter an old Athenian.
Old Ath. Lord Timon, hear me speak.
Freely, good father.
Old Ath. Thou hast a servant nam'd Lucilius.
Tim. I have so: What of him?
Old Ath. Most noble Timon, call the man before
Tim. Attends he here, or no?—Lucilius!
Luc. Here, at your lordship's service.
Old Ath. This fellow here, lord Timon, this thy
By night frequents my house. I am a man
Well; what further?
Tim. Old Ath. One only daughter have I, no kin else, On whom I may confer what I have got: The maid is fair, o'the youngest for a bride, And I have bred her at my dearest cost, In qualities of the best. This man of thine Attempts her love: I pr'ythee, noble lord, Join with me to forbid him her resort; Myself have spoke in vain.
The man is honest.
Old Ath. Therefore he will be, Timon: His honesty rewards him in itself,
It must not bear my daughter.
Does slie love him?
Old Ath. She is young, and apt:
Tim. [To Lucilius.] Love you the maid?
Luc. Ay, my good lord, and she accepts of it. Old Ath. If in her marriage my consent be missing,
I call the gods to witness, I will choose
Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world,
How shall she be endow'd,
If she be mated with an equal husband?
Old Ath. Three talents, on the present; in future,
Tim. This gentleman of mine hath serv'd me long; To build his fortune, I will strain a little,
For 'tis a bond in men. Give him thy daughter:
And make him weigh with her.
Most noble lord,
Pawn me to this your honour, she is his.
Tim. My hand to thee; mine honour on my pro
Luc. Humbly I thank your lordship: Never may That state or fortune fall into my keeping,
Which is not ow'd to you!
[Exeunt Lucilius and old Athenian. Poet. Vouchsafe 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 beseech Your lordship to accept.
Painting is welcome.
The gods preserve you!
Tim. Well fare you, gentlemen: Give me your
We must needs dine together.-Sir, your jewel
What, my lord? dispraise?
My lord, 'tis rated
As those, which sell, would give: But you well
Things of like value, differing in the owners,
Are prized by their masters: believe't, dear lord,
Mer. No, my good lord; he speaks the common
Which all men speak with him.
• Pictures have no hypocrisy; they are what they profess to be.
To unclew a man, is to draw out the whole mass of his fortunes.
Tim. Look, who comes here.
Will you be chid?
Jew. We will bear, with your lordship.
Apem. Are they not Athenians?
Apem. Then I repent not.
Jew. You know me, Apemantus.
Apem. Thou knowest, I do; I call'd thee by thy
Tim. Thou art proud, Apemantus.
Apem. Of nothing so much, as that I am not like Timon.
Tim. Whither art going?
Apem. To knock out an honest Athenian's brains. Tim. That's a deed thou'lt die for.
Apem. Right, if doing nothing be death by the law.
Tim. How likest thou this picture, Apemantus? Apem. The best, 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. You are a dog.
Apem. Thy mother's of my generation; What's
she, if I be a dog?
Tim. Wilt dine with me, Apemantus ?
Apem. No; I eat not lords.
Tim. An thou should'st, thou'dst anger ladies. Apem. O, they eat lords; so they come by great bellies.
Tim. That's a lascivious apprehension.
Apem. So thou apprehend'st it: Take it for thy labour.