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TIMON, a noble Athenian.
two flattering Lords.
VENTIDIUS, one of Timon's falfe Friends.
feveral Servants to Ufurers.
Mistresses to Alcibiades.
Thieves, Senators, Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Mercer and
SCENE ATHENS, and the Woods not far from it.
The hint of part of this play taken from Lucian's
TIMON of ATHENS.
A Hall in Timon's House.
Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and Mercer,
at feveral doors. OOD day, Sir.
Pain. I am glad ye are well.
Poet. I have not feen you long, how goes
Pain. It wears, Sir, as it grows.
Pain, I know them both; th' other's a jeweller.
Jew. Nay, that's most fixt.
Mer. A moft incomparable man, breath'd as it were To an untirable and continuate goodness.
Jew. I have a jewel here.
Mer. O pray let's fee't.
For the Lord Timon, Sir?
Jew. If he will touch the estimate: but for that-
It ftains the glory in that happy verse
Jew. And rich; here is a water, look ye.
Poet. A thing flipt idly from me. Our poefie is as a gum, which iffues From whence 'tis nourished. The fire i'th' flint Shews not 'till it be ftruck: our gentle flame Provokes it felf, and, like the current, flies Each bound it chafes. What have you there? Pain. A picture, Sir:-and when comes your book forth? Poet. Upon the heels of my presentment, Sir. Let's fee your piece.
Pain. 'Tis a good piece.
Poet. So 'tis,
This comes off well and excellent.
[Repeating to bimfelf. [Looking on the jewel.
Poet. Admirable! how this grace
Speaks his own ftanding! what a mental power
Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life: Here is a touch-is't good?
Poet. I'll fay of it,
It tutors nature, artificial ftrife
Pain, How this Lord is followed!
Poet. The fenators of Athens! happy man!
Pain. Look, more!
Poet, You fee this confluence, this great flood of vifiters.
I have, in this rough work, fhap'd out a man
* Anciently they wrote upon waxen tables with an iron ftyle.
Infects one comma in the course I hold;
Pain. How fhall I understand you?
You fee how all conditions, how all minds,
Pain. I faw them fpeak together.
Poet. I have upon a high and pleasant hill Feign'd Fortune to be thron'd. The base o'th' mount Is rank'd with all deferts, all kind of natures, That labour on the bofom of this fphere To propagate their ftates; amongst them all, Whofe eyes are on this fov'reign Lady fixt, One do I perfonate of Timon's frame, Whom fortune with her iv'ry hand wafts to her, Whose prefent grace to prefent flaves and fervants Tranflates his rivals.
Pain. 'Tis conceiv'd to th' fcope:
This throne, this fortune, and this hill, methinks,
Poet. Nay, but hear me on:
All those which were his fellows but of late,
Pain. Ay, marry, what of these?
Poet. When Fortune in her shift and change of moo
A thousand moral paintings I can fhew,
Trumpets found. Enter Timon addreffing bimself courteously to every Suitor.
Tim. Imprifon'd is he,, fay you? [To a Meflenger.
To those have shut him up, which failing to him
I know him
Tim. Noble Ventidius! well
Tim. Commend me to him, I will fend his rapfom,
0. Ath. Lord Timon, hear me fpeak. Tim. Freely, good father.
0. Ath. Thou haft a fervant nam'd Lucilius.
Tim. I have fo: what of him?
0. Ath. Moft noble Timon, call the man before thee.. Tim. Attends he here or no? Lucilius!