Imatges de pÓgina
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HARVARD COLLEGE LIBRARY

FROM

THE BEQUEST OF

EVERT JANSEN WENDELL

1918

TIMON OF ATHENS.

VOL. VIII.

B

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Hortensius,

Two Servants of Varro, and the Servant of Isidore; two of

Timon's creditors.

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Other Lords, Senators, Officers, Soldiers, Thieves, and Attendants.

Scene, Athens; and the Woods adjoining.

TIMON OF ATHENS.

ACT 1.

SCENE I. Athens. A hall in Timon's house.

Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and others, at several doors.

Poet. Good day, sir.

Pain.

I am glad you are well.

Poet. I have not seen you long; How goes the

world?

Pain. It wears, sir, 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. Mer. 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 passes t.

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

* Inured by constant practice.

For continual.

i. e. Exceeds, goes beyond common bounds.

Poet. When we for recompense have prais'd the vile, It stains the glory in that happy verse

Which aptly sings the good..

Mer.

"Tis a good form. [Looking at the jewel.

Jew. And rich: here is a water, look you.

Pain. You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedi

cation

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?

Poet. Upon the heels of my presentment*, sir. Let's see your piece.

Pain.

"Tis a good piece.

Poet. 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 strifet

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!

* As soon as my book has been presented to Timon.
ti. e. The contest of art with nature.

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