Imatges de pÓgina
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Vol. V.


Timon, a noble Athenian.
Lucullus, Lords, and flatterers of Timon.
Ventidius, one of Timon's false Friends.
Apemantus, a churlish Philosopher.
Alcibiades, an Athenian General.
Flavius, Steward to Timon.
Lucilius, Timon's Servants.

Servants to Timon's Creditors.
Two Servants of Varro, and the Servant of Isidore; two. of

Timon's Creditors.
Cupid and Maskers. Three Strangers.
Poet, Painter, Jeweller, and Merchant.
An old Athenian. A Page. A Fool.


, } Mistreses to Alcibiades .

Other Lords, Senators, Oficers, Soldiers, Thieves, and At


SCENE, Athens; and the Woods adjajning.


ACT I. SCENE I. Athens. A Hall in Timon's House. Enter Poet, Painter, JEWELLER, MERCHANT, and

Others, at several doors.

Poet. Good day, fir.
Pain. I am glad you are well:
Poet. I have not seen you long; How goes the world?
Pain. It wears, fir, as it grows.

Poet. Ay, that's well known:
But what particular rarity ? what strange,
Which manifold record not matches ? See,
Magick of bounty! all these spirits thy power
Hath conjur'd to attend. I know the merchant.

Pain. I know them both; t'other's a jeweller.
Mær. O, 'tis a worthy lord !
Jew. Nay, that's most fix'd.

Mer. A most incomparable man; breath'd, as it were, To an untirable and continuate goodness :

He paffes.

Jew. I have a jewel here.
Mer. O, pray, let's see't : For the lord Timon, sir?
Jew. If he will touch the estimate: But, for that

Poet. When we for recompense bave prais'd the vile,
It stains the glory in that happy verse
IVhich aptly si!igs the good.

Mer. 'Tis a good form. [Looking on the jewel.
Jew. And rich : here is a water, look

you. Pain. You are rapt, fir, in some work, some dedication To the great lord.

Poet. A thing slipp'd idly from me.
Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes
From whence 'tis nourished: The fire i'the flint
Shows not, till it be struck; our gentle flame
Provokes itself, and, like the current, flies
Each bound it chafes. What have you there?

Pain. A picture,sir..And when comes your book forth?

Poer. Upon the heels of my presentment, fir.
Let's see your piece.

Pain. 'Tis a good piece.
Poer. So 'tis: this comes off well and excellent.
Pain. Indifferent.

Poet. Admirable : How this grace
Speaks his own standing! what a mental

power This eye

shoots forth ! how big imagination Moves in this lip! to the dumbness of the gesture One might interpret.

Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life.
Here is a touch ; Is't good ?

Poet. I'll say of it,
It tutors nature : artificial strife
Lives in these touches, livelier than life.

Enter certain Senators, and pass over.
Pain. How this lord's follow'd !
Poet. The senators of Athens ;-Happy men!
Pain. Look, more!

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