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TIMON, a noble Athenian.
LUCULLUS, two flattering Lords.
APEMANTUS, a churlife Philofopher.
VENTIDIUS, one of Timon's falfe Friends.
Several Servants to Ufurers.
Miftreffes to Alcibiades.
Thieves, Senators, Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Mercer and Merchant; with divers Servants and Attendants.
SCENE ATHENS, and the Woods not far from it.
The bint of part of this play taken from Lucian's
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.
Jew. Nay, that's most fixt.
Mer. A moft incomparable man, breath'd as it were
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
[Repeating to himself. [Looking on the jewel. look ye. work, fome dedication
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 prefentment, Sir.
Let's fee your piece.
Pain. 'Tis a good piece.
Poet. So 'tis,
This comes off well and excellent.
Poet. Admirable! how this grace
Speaks his own ftanding! what a mental power
Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life:
Poet. I'll fay of it,
Lives in these touches, livelier than life.
Enter certain Senators.
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 Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug With ampleft entertainment. My free drift Halts not particularly, but moves it felf In a wide fea of wax ; no levelf'd malice
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 speak together.
Poet. I have upon a high and pleasant hill
Pain. 'Tis conceiv'd to th' fcope:
This throne, this fortune, and this hill, methinks,
Poet. Nay, but hear me on:
All thofe which were his fellows but of late,
Pain. Ay, marry, what of these?
Poet. When Fortune in her shift and change of mood
Pain. 'Tis common;
A thousand moral paintings I can shew,
Trumpets found. Enter Timon addreffing bimself courteously to every Suitor.
Tim. Imprifon'd is he, fay you? [To a Meffenger, Mef. Ay, my good Lord, five talents is his debt, His means moft fhort, his creditors most straight: Your honourable letter he defires
To those have shut him up, which failing to him
Tim. Noble Ventidius! well
I know him
I am not of that feather, to shake off
Tim. Commend me to him, I will fend his ranfom,
0. Ath. Lord Timon, hear me fpeak.
Tim. Freely, good father.
0. Atb. 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!