T'accept my grief, and whilst this poor wealth lafts,
To entertain me as your fteward ftill.

Tim. Had I a fteward

So true, fo juft, and now fo comfortable?
It almoft turns my dangerous nature mild.
Let me behold thy face: furely, this man
Was born of woman.

Forgive my gen'ral and exceptlefs rashness,
Perpetual-fober Gods! I do proclaim

One honeft man: mistake me not, but one,
No more I pray, and he's a fteward too.
How fain would I have hated all mankind,
And thou redeem'ft thy felf: but all fave thee
I fell with curfes.

Methinks thou art more honeft now than wife:
For, by oppreffing and betraying me,

Thou might'ft have fooner got another service:
For many fo arrive at fecond mafters,

Upon their firft Lord's neck. But tell me true,
(For I must ever doubt, though ne'er fo fure,)
Is not thy kindness fubtle, covetous,

Ap ufuring kindness, as rich men deal gifts,
Expecting in return twenty for one?

Flav, No, my most worthy mafter, (in whose breaft
Doubt and fufpect, alas, are plac'd too late,)

You fhould have fear'd falfe times, when you did feaft;
Sufpect ftill comes when an estate is leaft.

That which I fhew, heav'n knows, is meerly love,
Duty, and zeal, to your unmatched mind,

Care of your food and living: and, believe it,
For any benefit that points to me

Either in hope, or prefent, I'd exchange it
For this one with, that you had power and wealth
To requite me by making rich your felf.

Tim. Look thee, 'tis fo; thou fingly honeft man,
Here, take; the Gods out of my misery

Have fent thee treasure. Go, live rich and happy:
But thus condition'd; thou shalt build from men:
Hate all, curfe all, fhew charity to none,
But let the famifh'd flesh flide from the bone,

Ere

Ere thou relieve the beggar. Give to dogs

What thou deny'ft to men. Let prifons swallow 'em,
Debts wither 'em; be men like blafted woods,

And may diseases lick up their falfe bloods!
And fo farewel, and thrive.

Flav. O let me stay

And comfort you, my mafter!
Tim. If thou hat'ft curfes,

Stay not, but fly, whilst thou art bleft and free;
Ne'er fee thou man, and let me ne'er fee thee.

[Exeunt

SCENE II. Enter Poet and Painter. Pain. As I took note of the place, it can't be far where he abides.

Post. What's to be thought of him? does the rumour hold for true, that he's fo full of gold?

Pain. Certain. Alcibiades reports it: Phrynia and Timandra had gold of him; he likewife enrich'd poor ftragling foldiers with great quantity. 'Tis faid, he gave his fteward a mighty fum.

Poet. Then this breaking of his has been but a tryal of his friends?

Pain, Nothing else: you fhall fee him a palm in Athens again, and flourish with the higheft. Therefore 'tis not amifs we tender our loves to him in this fuppos'd diftrefs of his: it will fhew honeftly in us, and is very likely to load our purposes with what they travel for, if it be a just and true report that goes of his Having.

Poet. What have you now to prefent unto him?

Pain. Nothing at this time but my visitation: only I will promise him an excellent piece.

Poet. I must ferve him fo too, tell him of an intent that's coming toward him.

இய

Pain. Good as the beft; Promifing is the very air o'th' time; it opens the eyes of expectation. Performance is ever the duller for his act; and, but in the plainer and fimpler kind of people, the deed is quite out of ufe. To promife is most courtly and fashionable; performance is a kind of will or teftament, which argues a great ficknefs in his judgment that makes it.

Re-enter

Re-enter Timon from bis Cave, unfeen, but overbearing him.

Tim. Excellent workman! thou canst not paint a man fo bad as thy felf.

Poet, I am thinking what I fhall fay I have provided for him: must be a perfonating of himself; a fatyr against the foftnefs of profperity, with a difcovery of the infinite fatteries that follow youth and opulency.

Tim. Must thou needs ftand for a villain in thine own work? wilt thou whip thine own faults in other men? do fo, I have gold for thee.

Pain. Nay, let's feek him.

Then do we fin against our own estate,

When we may profit meet, and come too late.

Poet. True:

While the day ferves, before black-corneted night,
Find what thou want'ft, by free and offer'd light.
Come.

Tim. I'll meet you at the turn

What a God's gold, that he is worshipped
In bafer temples, than where fwine do feed?
'Tis thou that rigg'ft the bark, and plow'ft the foam,
Settleft admired rev'rence in a flave;

To thee be worship, and thy faints for aye

Be crown'd with plagues, that thee alone obey! 'Tis fit I meet them.

Poet. Hail! worthy Timon.

Pain. Our late noble master.

Tim. Have I once liv'd to fee two honeft men?
Poet. Sir, having often of your bounty tafted,
Hearing you were retir'd, your friends fall'n off,
For whofe moft thankless natures (abhorr'd spirits!)
Not all the whips of heav'n are large enough:
What! ev'n to you! Whofe ftar-like nobleness
Gave life and influence to their being! I'm rapt,
And cannot cover the monftrous bulk of this
Ingratitude with any fize of words.

Tim. Let it go naked, men may see't the better;
You that are honeft, by being what you are,

Make them beft feen and known.

VOL. VII.

F

Pain.

Pain. He, and my self,

Have travell'd in the fhower of your gifts,
And sweetly felt it.

Tim. Ay, you're honeft men.

Pain. We're hither come to offer you our fervice. Tim. Moft honeft men! why, how fhall I requite you? Can you eat roots, and drink cold water? no.

Both. What we can do, we'll do, to do you fervice. Tim. Y'are honeft men; you've heard that I have gold, I'm fure you have; fpeak truth, y'are honeft men. Pain. So it is faid, my noble Lord, but therefore Came not my friend, nor I.

Tim. Good honeft man! thou draw'ft a counterfeit Beft in all Athens, thou'rt indeed the best,

Thou counterfeit'ft moft lively.

Pain. So fo, my Lord.

Tim. E'en fo, Sir, as I fay

And for thy fiction,

[To the Poet.

Why, thy verse swells with ftuff fo fine and Imooth,

That thou art even natural in thine art.

But for all this, my honeft-natur'd friends,

I muft needs fay you have a little fault;

Marry, not monftrous in you; neither with I
You take much pains to mend.

Both. 'Befeech your Honour

To make it known to us.

Tim. You'll take it ill.

Both. Moft thankfully, my Lord.

Tim. Will you indeed?

Both. Doubt it not, worthy Lord.

Tim. There's ne'er a one of you but trusts a knave,

That mightily deceives you.

Both. Do we, my Lord?

Tim. Ay, and you hear him cogg, fee him diffemble,

Know his grofs patchery, love him, and feed him,

Keep in your bofom; yet remain affur'd

That he's a made-up villain.

Pain. I know none fuch,

My Lord.

Pott. Nor I.

Tim. Look you, I love you well, I'll give you gold,
Rid me thefe villains from your companies;

Hang them, or ftab them, drown them in a draught,
Confound them by fome courfe, and come to me,
I'll give you gold enough.

Botb. Name them, my Lord, let's know them. Tim. You that way, and you this; not two in company, Each man apart, all fingle and alone;

Yet an arch-villain keeps him company.

If where thou art, two villains fhall not be, [To the Painter. Come not near him.-If thou wouldst not refide[ To the Poet. But where one villain is, then bim abandon.

Hence, pack, there's gold, ye came for gold, ye flaves; You have work'd for me; there's your payment, hence! You are an alchymift, make gold of that:

Out, rascal dogs!

[Exit beating and driving 'em out. SCENE III. Enter Flavius and two Senators. Flav. It is in vain that you would speak with Timon: For he is fet fo only to himself,

That nothing but himself which looks like man
Is friendly with him.

I Sen. Bring us to his cave.

It is our part and promise to th' Athenians

To fpeak with Timon.

2 Sen. At all times alike

Men are not ftill the fame; 'twas time and griefs
That fram'd him thus. Time with his fairer hand
Offering the fortunes of his former days,

The former man may make him; bring us to him,
And chance it as it may.

Flav. Here is his cave:

Peace and content be here, Lord Timon! Timon!
Look out, and speak to friends: th' Athenians
By two of their most rev'rend fenate greet thee;
Speak to them, noble Timon.

Enter Timon out of his Cave. Tim. Thou Sun that comfort'ft, burn! For each true word a blifter, and each falfe Be cauterizing to the root o'th' tongue, Confuming it with speaking!

F 2

-fpeak and be [hang'd;

I Sen.