Mer. O, pray, let's fee't:

For the Lord Timon, Sir?

Few. If he will touch the estimate: but for that

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

Which aptly fings the good.

Mer. 'Tis a good form.

[Looking on the jewel.

Jew. And rich; here is a water, look ye.

Pain. You're rapt, Sir, in fome work, fome dedication

To the great Lord.

Poet. A thing flipt idly from me.

Our poefy is as a gum, which issues

From whence 'tis nourished. The fire i'th' flint
Shews not, 'till it be ftruck: our gentle flame
Provokes itself, and like the current flies
Each bound it chafes. What have you there? (1)
Pain. A picture, Sir: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.

Pain. Indiff'rent.

Poet. Admirable ? how this grace

Speaks his own ftanding? what a mental

power

This eye fhoots forth? how big imagination

Moves in this lip? to th' 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 fay of it,

It tutors nature; artificial ftrife

Lives in those touches, livelier than life.

(1) Each Bound it chafes.deed, beating up upon the Shore, faid to drive the Shore away. which, foaming and chafing on Water feems to the Eye to retire.

-] How, chafes? The Flood, incovers a part of it, but cannot be The Poet's Allufion is to a Wave, the Shore, breaks; and then the

Enter

Enter certain Senators.

Pain. How this Lord is followed!

Poet. The Senators of Athens! happy man! (2)
Pain. Look, more!

Pact. 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 particular, but moves itself
In a wide fea of wax; no levell'd malice
Infects one comma in the course I hold,
But flies an eagle-flight, bold, and forth on,
Leaving no tract behind.

Pain. How fhall I understand you?
Poet. I'll unbolt to you.

&

You fee, how all conditions, how all minds,
As well of glib and flipp'ry creatures, as
Of grave and auftere quality, tender down
Their fervice to Lord Timon: his large fortune,
Upon his good and gracious nature hanging,
Subdues and properties to his love and tendance
All forts of hearts; yea, from the glafs-fac'd flatterer
To Apemantus, that few things loves better
Than to abhor himself; ev'n he drops down
The knee before him, and returns in peace
Moft rich in Timon's nod.

Pain. I faw them speak together.

Poet. I have upon a high and pleasant hill Feign'd Fortune to be thron'd.

The bafe o'th' mount Is rank'd with all deferts, all kind of natures, That labour on the bofom of this sphere Το propagate their ftates; amongst them all, Whofe eyes are on this fov'reign lady fixt,

(2) Happy Men!] Thus the printed Copies: but I cannot think the Poet meant, that the Senators were happy in being admitted to Timon; their Quality might command that: but that Timon was happy in being followed, and careffed, by thofe of their Rank and Dignity,

One

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. (3)

This throne, this fortune, and this hill, methinks,
With one man beckon'd from the reft below,
Bowing his head against the steepy mount

To climb his happinefs, would be well expreft
In our condition.

Poet. Nay, but hear me on:

All those which were his fellows but of late,
Some better than his value, on the moment
Follow his ftrides; his lobbies fill with tendance;
Rain facrificial whifp'rings in his ear;

Make facred even his stirrop; and through him
Drink the free air.

Pain. Ay, marry, what of these?

Poet. When Fortune in her fhift and change of mood Spurns down her late belov'd, all his dependants (Which labour'd after to the mountain's top, Even on their knees and hands,) let him flip down, Not one accompanying his declining foot. Pain. 'Tis common:

A thousand moral paintings I can fhew,

That shall demonftrate thefe quick blows of fortune
More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well
To fhew Lord Timon, that mean eyes have feen
The foot above the head.

Trumpets found. Enter Timon addreffing himself courteoufly to every fuitor.

Tim. Imprifon'd is he, fay you?

(3) 'Tis conceiv'd, to Scope

[To a Meffenger.

This Throne, this Fortune, &c.] Thus all the Editort hitherto have nonfenfically writ, and pointed, this Paffage. But, fure, the Painter would tell the Poet, your Conception, Sir, hits the very Scope you aim at. This the Greeks would have rendered, Toxone TUXETS, recla ad Scopum tendis: and Cicero has thus expreffed on the like Occafion, Signum oculis deftinatum feris.

Mef.

Mef. Ay, my good Lord; five talents is his debt, His means moft fhort, his creditors most straight: Your honourable letter he defires

To thofe have fhut him up, which failing to him
Periods his comfort.

Tim. Noble Ventidius! well

I am not of that feather to shake off

My friend when he most needs me. I do know him A gentleman that well deserves a help,

Which he shall have, I'll pay the debt, and free him. Mef, Your lordfhip ever binds him.

Tim. Commend me to him, I will fend his ranfom

And, being enfranchis'd, bid him come to me;

"Tis not enough to help the feeble up,

But to fupport him after. Fare you well.
Me. All happiness to your Honour!
Enter an old Athenian.

Old Ath. Lord Timon, hear me speak.
Tim. Freely, good father.

Old Ath. Thou haft a fervant nam'd Lucilius.

Tim. I have fo: what of him?

[Exit.

Old Ath. Moft noble Timon, call the man before thee. Tim. Attends he here or no? Lucilius!

Enter Lucilius.

Luc. Here, at your Lordship's fervice.

Old Ath. This fellow here, Lord Timon, this thy creature By night frequents my houfe. I am a man

That from my first have been inclin❜d to thrift,
And my eftate deferves an heir more rais'd,

Than one which holds a trencher.

Tim. Well: what further ?

Old Ath. One only daughter have I, no kin else,
On whom I may confer what I have got:
The maid is fair, o'th' youngest for a bride,
And I have bred her at my dearest coft,
In qualities of the best.

This man of thine

Attempts her love: I pray thee, noble Lord,
Join with me to forbid him her refort;

Myfelf

Myfelf have fpoke in vain.

Tim. The man is honeft.

Old Ath. Therefore he will be, Timon. (4) His honefty rewards him in itself,

It must not bear my daughter.

Tim. Does the love him?

Old Ath. She is young, and apt;

Our own precedent paflions do inftru&t us,
What levity's in youth.

Tim. Love you the maid?

Luc. Ay, my good Lord, and the accepts of it. Old Ath. If in her marriage my confent be miffing, I call the Gods to witnefs, I will chuse

Mine heir from forth the beggars or the world,
And difpoffefs her all.

Tim. How fhall she be endowed,

If she be mated with an equal husband ?

Old Ath. Three talents on the prefent, in future all. Tim. This gentleman of mine hath ferv'd me long; To build his fortune I will train a little,

For 'tis a bond in men. Give him thy daughter:
What you beftow, in him I'll counterpoise,
And make him weigh with her.

Old Ath. Moft noble Lord,

Pawn me to this your honour, the is his.

Tim. My hand to thee, mine honour on my promife. Luc. Humbly I thank your Lordfhip: never may That ftate, or fortune, fall into my keeping, Which is not ow'd to you! [Exeunt Luc. and old Ath, Poet. Vouchfafe my labour, and long live your lordship! Tim. I thank you, you fhall hear from me anon: Go not away. What have you there, my friend? Pain. A piece of Painting, which I do befeech Your Lordship to accept.

(4) Therefore be will be, Timon.] The thought is clofely exprefs'd, and obfcure: but this feems the Meaning." If the Man be honest, "my Lord, for that reafon he will be fo in this; and not endeavour "at the Injustice of gaining my Daughter without my Confent." Mr. Warburton.