Break open fhops, for nothing can you fteal But thieves do lofe it: steal not lefs for what I give, and gold confound you howsoever! Amen. [Exit. 3 Thief. H'as almost charm'd me from my profeffion, by perfuading me to it.

Thief. 'Tis in the malice of mankind, that he thus advifes us; not to have us thrive in our mystery.

a Thief. I'll believe him as an enemy: and give over my trade.

1 Thief. Let us firft fee peace in Athens; (27)

2 Thief. There is no time fo miferable, but a man may be true. [Exeunt.

H, you Gods!

FLAVIUS.

Is yon defpis'd and ruinous man my Lord ?
Full of decay and failing? oh, monument
And wonder of good deeds, evily bestow'd!
What change of honour defp'rate want has made?
What viler thing upon the earth, than friends,
Who can bring nobleft minds to baseft ends?
How rarely does it meet with this time's guife,
When man was wifht to love his enemies :
Grant, I may ever love, and rather woo

Thofe that would mifchief me, than those that do!

(27) Thief. Let us firft fee Peace in Athens; &c.] This and the concluding little Speech have in all the Editions been placed to one Speaker: But, as Mr. Warburton very juftly obferved to me, 'tis evident, the latter Words ought to be put in the Mouth of the first Thief, who is repenting, and leaving off his Trade.

H'as

H'as caught me in his eye, I will present
My honeft grief to him; and, as my Lord,
Still ferve him with my life.-My dearest master!

Timon comes forward from his Cave,

Tim. Away! what art thou?

Flav. Have you forgot me, Sir?

Tim. Why dost thou afk that? I have forgot all men. Then, if thou granteft that thou art a man,

I have forgot thee.

Flav. An honeft fervant

Tim. Then I know thee not:

I ne'er had honeft man about me, all

I kept were knaves, to ferve in meat to villains.
Flav. The Gods are witnefs,

Ne'er did poor fteward wear a truer grief
For his undone Lord, than mine eyes for you.
Ti.What,doft thou weep? come nearer, then I love thee.
Because thou art a woman, and disclaim'st

Flinty mankind; whofe eyes do never give
But or through luft, or laughter. Pity's fleeping;
Strange times, that weep with laughing, not with
weeping!

Flav. I beg of you to know me, good my Lord,
T' accept my grief, and, whilft this poor wealth lafts,
To entertain me as your fteward still.

Tim. Had I a fteward

So true, fa juft, and now fo comfortable?
It almoft turns my dangerous nature wild.
Let me behold thy face: furely, this man
Was born of woman.

Forgive my gen'ral and exceptlefs rafhnefs,
Perpetual, fober Gods! I do proclaim
One honeft man: mistake me not, but one:
No more, I pray; and he's a steward.
How fain would I have hated all mankind,
And thou redeem'ft thyfelf: but all, fave thee,
I fell with curfes..

Methinks, thou art more honeft now, than wife;
For, by oppreffing and betraying me,

H 2

Thou

Thou might'ft have fooner got another service:
For many fo arrive at fecond mafters,
Upon their firft Lord's neck.

But tell me true,

(For I must ever doubt, though ne'er fo fure)
Is not thy kindness, fubtle, covetous,

A ufuring kindness, as rich men deal gifts,
Expecting in return twenty for one?

Flav. No, my moft worthy mafter, (in whofe breaft Doubt and fufpect, alas, are plac'd too late,)

You should have fear'd falfe times, when you did feaft:
Sufpe&t ftill comes, where an estate is least.
That which I fhew, heav'n knows, is merely love,
Duty, and zeal, to your unmatched mind,
Care of your food and living: and, believe it,
For any benefit that points to me

Either in hope, or prefent, I'd exchange
For this one wish, that you had power
To requite me by making rich yourself.

and wealth

Tim. Look thee, 'tis fo; thou fingly honeft man,
Here, take; the Gods out of my mifery

Have fent thee treafure. Go, live rich and happy :
But thus condition'd; Thou shalt build from men:
Hate all, curfe all, fhew charity to none;
But let the famifht flesh flide from the bone,
Ere thou relieve the beggar. Give to dogs

What thou deny'ft to men. Let prifons fwallow 'em,
Debts wither 'em; be men like blafted woods,
And may diseases lick up their falfe bloods!
And fo farewel, and thrive.

Flav. O, let me ftay, and comfort you, my master.
Tim. If thou hat'ft curfes,

Stay not, but fly, whilft thou art bleft and free;
Ne'er fee thou man, and let me ne'er fee thee.

Enter Poet and Painter.

[Exeunt feverally.

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

Poct. What's to be thought of him? does the rumour hold for true, that he's fo full of gold ?

Pain. Certain. Alcibiades reports it: Phrynia and Timandra had gold of him: he likewife enrich'd poor ftragling foldiers with great quantity. 'Tis faid, he gave his fteward a mighty fum.

Poet. Then this breaking of his has been but a trial of his friends?

Pain. Nothing elfe: you fhall fee him a palm in Athens again, and flourish with the higheft. Therefore, 'tis not amiss, we tender our loves to him, in this fuppos'd diftrefs of his: it will fhew honeftly in us, and is very likely to load our purposes with what they travel for, if it be a just and true report that goes of his having. Poet. What have you now to prefent unto him? Pain. Nothing at this time but my vifitation: only I will promife him an excellent piece.

Poet. I must ferve him fo too; tell him of an intent that's coming toward him.

Pain. Good as the beft: promifing is the very air o'th' time; it opens the eyes af expectation. Performance is ever the duller for his act, and, but in the plainer and fimpler kind of people, the decd is quite out of ufe. To promife, is most courtly, and fashionable; performance is a kind of will or teftament, which argues a great ficknefs in his judment that makes it.

Re-enter Timon from his Cave, unfeen.

Tim. Excellent workman! thou canst not paint a ruan fo bad as thyfelf.

Poet. I am thinking, what I fhall fay I have provided for him: it must be a perfonating of himself; a fatire against the foftnefs of profperity, with a difcovery of the infinite flatteries that follow youth and opulency.

Tim. Muft thou needs ftand for a villain in thine own work? wilt thou whip thine own faults in other men? do fo, I have gold for thee.

Paet. Nay, let's feek him.

Then do we fin against our own eftate,

When we may profit meet, and come too late.

Pain. True:

Poet. While the day ferves, before black-corner'd night, (28)

Find what thou want'ft, by free and offer'd light.
Come.

Tim. I'll meet you at the turn

What a God's gold, that he is worshipped

In bafer temples, than where fwine do feed!

'Tis thou that rigg'ft the bark,and plow'ft the Wave, (29) Settleft admired rev'rence in a flave;

To thee be worship, and thy faints for aye

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

Poet. Hail! worthy Tim.

Pain. Our late noble mafter.

Tim. Have I once liv'd to fee two honeft men?
Poet. Sir, having often of your bounty tafted,
Hearing you were retir'd, your friends fall'n of,
Whofe thanklefs natures, (oh abhorred fpirits!)
Not all the whips of heav'n are large enough-
What! to you!

Whofe ftar-like nobleness gave life and influence
To their whole being! I am rapt, and cannot
Cover the monftrous bulk of this ingratitude
With any fize of words.

Tim. Let it go naked, men may fee't the better: (30)

You

(28) While the day ferves, &c.] This Couplet in all the Editions is placed to the Painter, but, as it is, in Rhime, and a Sequel of the Sentiment begun by the Poet, I have made no Scruple to ascribe it to him.

(29) 'Tis thou that rigg ft the Bark, and plow'ft the Foam,

Settleft admired Red'rence in a Slave;] As both the Couplet preceding, and following this, are in Rhime, I am very apt to fufpect, the Rhime is difmounted here by an accidental Corruption; and therefore have ventur'd to replace Wave in the Room of Foam.

(30) Let it go, naked Men may fee't the better;] Thus has this Paffige been ftupidly pointed through all the Editions, as if naked Men could fee better than Men in their Clothes. I think verily, if there were any Room to credit the Experiment, fach Editors ought to go naked for the Improvement of their Eye-fights. But, perhaps, they have as little Faith as Judgement in their own Readings. The Poer, in the preceding Speech haranguing on the Ingratitude of Timon's falfe Friends, fays, he cannot cover the MonBroufnels