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1 Stran. Do you observe this, Hoftilius ?
i Stran. Why, this is the world's foul;
i Stran. For mine own part, I never tasted Timon in
Serv. Oh, my Lord, They've all been touch'd, and all are found base metal;
(13) Is every Flatterer's Sport.] This Senseless Corruption has run through all the Editions ; and, as I suppose, without Suspicion,
For they have all deny'd him.
Sem. How? deny'd him? Ventidius and Lucullus both deny'd him ? And does he send to me ? three! humIt shews but little love or judgment in him. Must I be his last refuge? his friends, like physicians,(14) Thriv’d, give him over? muft I take the cure On me? has much disgrac'd me in't; I'm angry. He might have known my Place; I see no sente fort, But his occasions might have wooed me firit: For, in my conscience, I was the first man That e'er receiv'd gift from him. And does he think so backwardly of me, That I'll requite it last? no: So it may prove an argument of laughter To th' rest, and 'mongst Lords I be thought a fool: I'd rather than the worth of thrice the sum, H'ad sent to me first, but for my mind's fake :: I'd such a courage to have done him good. But now teturn, And with their faint Reply this Answer join ; Who'bates. mine honour, shall not know my coin. [Exit.
Serv. Excellent ! your Lordship's a goodly villain. The devil knew not what he did, when he made man politick; he cross'd himself byłt; and I cannot think, but in the end the villainies of man will set him clear. How fairly this Lord strives to appear foul? takes virtuous copies to be-wicked : like those that under hot, ardent, zeal would set whole Realms on fire. Of such a nature is his politick love. This was my Lord's best hope ; now all are fled, Save the Gods only. Now his friends are dead ;
bis Friends like Physicians Thriv'd, give him ever?] I have restor'd this old Reading, only amended the Pointing which was faulty. Mr. Pope, suspecting the Phrase, has Substituted Tbree in the room of brir'd, and so difarm’d the Poet's Satire. Physicians thrivid is no more than Phyficians grown rich: Only the Adjective Paffive of this Verb, indeed, is not to common in Use; and yet is it a familiar Expreffion, to this day, to say, Sucb a one is well thriven on bis Trade,
Doors, that were ne'er acquainted with their wards
SCENE changes to Timon's Hall.
vants of Timon's creditors, who wait for his coming out. Var. 7 Ell met, good-morrow, Titus and Hortensius.
Tit. The like to , .
Luc. I think, one business does command us all.
Luc. Welcome, good brother. What d'you think the hour?
Phi. Labouring for nine.
Luc. Ay, but the days are waxed shorter with him:
Phi. I am of your ear for that.
Tit. I'll shew you how tobserve a strange event: Your Lord sends now for money.
Hor. True, he does.
Tit. And he wears jewe is now of Timon's gift,
Luc. How ftrange it shows,
Hor. I'm weary of this charge, the Gods can witness: I know, my Lord hath spent of Timon's wealth ; Ingratitude now makes it worse than stealth.
Var. Yes, mine's three thousand crowns: what's yours? Luc. Five thousand.
Var. 'Tis too much deep, and it should seem by th'sum, Your master's confidence was above mine ; Else, surely, his had equallid.
Enter Flaminius. Tit. One of Lord Timon's men.
Luc. Flaminius! Sir, a word : pray, is my Lord Ready to come forth?
Flam. No, indeed, he is not.
Enter Flavius in a cloak, muffled.
Tit. Do you hear, Sir-
false masters eat of my Lord's meat ? Then they would smile and fawn upon his debts, And take down th' interest in their glutt'nous maws; You do yourselves but wrong to stir me up, Let me pass quictly :Believ't, my Lord and I have made an end ; I have no more to reckon, he to spend.
Luc. Ay, but this answer will not serve..
Flav. If ’twill not serve, 'tis not so base as you ; For you serve knaves.
(Exit. Var. How! what does his cashier'd worship mutter!
Tit. No matter, what-he's poor, and that's revenge enough. Who can speak broader than he that has no house to put his head in? such may rail against great buildings.
Enter Servilius. Tit. Oh, here's Servilius; now we shall have some answer.
Ser. If I might beseech you gentlemen, to repair some other hour, I should derive much from it. For take it of my soul, My Lord leans wond'rously to discontent: His comfortable temper has forsook him, He is much out of health, and keeps his chamber.
Luc. Many do keep their chainbers, are not fick:
Ser. Good Gods !
Enter Timon, in a rage.
Luc. Put in now, Titus.
Tim. Knock me down with 'em -cleave me to the girdle.
Luc. Alas! my Lord.