АСТ. FIFTH

SCENE I

The woods. Before Timon's cave.

Enter Poet and Painter; Timon watching them from his cave.

Pain. As I took note of the place, it cannot be far where he abides.

Poet. What's to be thought of him? does the rumor hold for true, that he's so full of gold?

Pain. Certain: Alcibiades reports it; Phrynia and Timandra had gold of him: he likewise enriched poor straggling soldiers with great quantity; 'tis said he gave unto his steward a mighty sum.

Poet. Then this breaking of his has been but a try for his friends.

Pain. Nothing else: you shall see him a palm in

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"Enter Poet and Painter'"; the Poet and Painter were within view when Apemantus parted from Timon; they must therefore be supposed to have been wandering about the woods in search of Timon's cave, and to have heard in the interim the particulars of Timon's bounty to the thieves and the steward. But, as Malone observes, Shakespeare was not attentive to these minute particulars, and if he and the audience knew these circumstances, he would not scruple to attribute the knowledge to persons who perhaps had not yet an opportunity of acquiring it.-H. N. H.

Athens again, and flourish with the highest.
Therefore 'tis not amiss we tender our loves
to him in this supposed distress of his: it will
show honestly in us, and is very likely to
load our purposes with what they travail for,
if it be a just and true report that goes of
his having.

Poet. What have you now to present unto him?
Pain. Nothing at this time but my visitation:

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only I will promise him an excellent piece. Poet. I must serve him so too, tell him of an intent that's coming toward him. Pain. Good as the best. Promising is the very air o' the time: it opens the eyes of expectation: performance is ever the duller for his act; and, but in the plainer and simpler kind of people, the deed of saying is quite out of 30 use. To promise is most courtly and fashionable: performance is a kind of will or testament which argues a great sickness in his judgment that makes it.

[Timon comes from his cave, behind.

34. "Timon comes ."; modern editions until Collier's make the entrance of Timon at the beginning of the act. Of course Timon, though still out of sight, has overheard the foregoing dialogue between the Poet and the Painter. It is also to be noted, that Timon continues unseen by the other speakers, and that what he says in this part of the scene is to be understood as spoken aside. As for what is said by Apemantus in the preceding scene,-"Yonder comes a poet and a painter," it is to be supposed that these latter, though then seen by Timon and Apemantus, did not see them. The original has no division of the acts; and the awkwardness of beginning Act v. as in modern editions was noted by Johnson; but no one has been able to hit upon a better place for the opening of it.—H. N. H.

Tim. [Aside] Excellent workman! thou canst

not paint a man so bad as is thyself. Poet. I am thinking what I shall say I have provided for him: it must be a personating of himself; a satire against the softness of prosperity, with a discovery of the infinite 40 flatteries that follow youth and opulency. Tim. [Aside] Must thou needs stand for a villain in thine own work? wilt thou whip thine own faults in other men? Do so, I have gold for thee.

Poet. Nay, let's seek him:

Then do we sin against our own estate, When we may profit meet, and come too late. Pain. True;

When the day serves, before black-corner'd night,

Find what thou want'st by free and offer'd

light. Come.

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39. "a satire"; the subject of this projected satire was Timon's case, not his person.-H. N. H.

50. “black-corner'd"; i, e. “hiding things in dark corners"; Hanmer, "black-corneted"; Warburton conj. "black-cornette"; Farmer conj. MS. "black-coroned"; Mason conj. "black-crowned"; Jackson conj. "dark-horned"; Singer conj. “black-curtain'd,” etc.-I. G.

"Many conjectures have been offered about this passage, which appears to me a corruption of the text. Some have proposed to read black-coned, alluding to the conical form of the earth's shadow; others black-crown'd, and black-cover'd. It appears to me that it should be black-curtain'd. We have 'the blanket of the dark' in Macbeth, 'night's black mantle' in the Third Part of King Henry VI, and in the First Part of the same drama 'night is fled, whose pitchy mantle overveil'd the earth.' I cannot think with Steevens that 'Night as obscure as a dark corner is meant" (Singer).—

H. N. H.

Tim. [Aside] I'll meet you at the turn. What a

god's gold,

That he is worship'd in a baser temple

Than where swine feed!

'Tis thou that rigg'st the bark and plow'st the foam,

Settlest admired reverence in a slave:

To thee be worship! and thy saints for aye

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

[Coming forward. 60

Our late noble master!

Poet. Hail, worthy Timon!
Pain.

Tim. Have I once lived to see two honest men?
Poet. Sir,

Having often of your open bounty tasted,
Hearing you were retired, your friends fall'n
off,

Whose thankless natures-O abhorred spirits!—
Not all the whips of heaven are large enough—
What! to you,

Whose star-like nobleness gave life and influ

ence

To their whole being! I am rapt, and cannot

cover

The monstrous bulk of this ingratitude

With any size of words.

Tim. Let it go naked, men may see 't the better.

You that are honest, by being what you are,
Make them best seen and known.

Pain.

He and myself

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Have travail'd in the great shower of your gifts,

And sweetly felt it.

Tim.

Aye, you are honest men.

Pain. We are hither come to offer you our serv

ice.

Tim. Most honest men! Why, how shall I requite you?

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Can you eat roots, and drink cold water? no. Both. What we can do, we 'll do, to do you service. Tim. Ye're honest men: ye 've heard that I have gold;

I am sure you have: speak truth; ye 're honest

men.

Pain. So it is said, my noble lord: but therefore Came not my friend nor I.

Tim. Good honest men! Thou draw'st a counterfeit

Best in all Athens: thou 'rt indeed the best;
Thou counterfeit'st most lively.

Pain.
So, so, my lord.
Tim. E'en so, sir, as I say. And, for thy fiction,
Why, thy verse swells with stuff so fine and
smooth

That thou art even natural in thine art.

But, for all this, my honest-natured friends,
I must needs say you have a little fault:

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Marry, 'tis not monstrous in you; neither wish I
You take much pains to mend.