}

Timon, a noble Athenian.
Lucins,
Lucullus, Lords, and flatterers of Timon.
Sempronius,
Ventidius, one of Timon's false Friends.
Apemanlus, a churlish Philosopher,
Alcibiades, an Atheniau General,
Flavins , Steward to Timon.
Flaminius,
Lucilius, Timon's Servants.
Servilins,
Caphis,
Philotus,
Titus;

Servants to Timon's Creditors.
Lucius,
Hortensius,
Two Servants of Varro, and the Servant of

Isidore ; two of Timon's Creditors. Cupid and Maskers. Three Strangers. Poet, Painter, Jeweller, and Merchant, An old Athenian. A Page. A Fool. Phrynia,

Mistresses to Alcibiades. Timandra, Other Lords, Senators, Officers, Soldiers,

Thieves, and Attendants.

}

Enter Poet , Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and

Others, at several doors,
Poet. Good day, Sir.
Puin. I am glad you are well.
Poet. I have not seen you long; How goes the

world?
Pain. It wears, Sir, as it grows.

Poet. Ay', that's well known :
Put what particular rarity ? what strange,
Which inanifold record not matches? See,
Magick of bounty! all these spirits thy power,
Hath conjur'd to attend. I know the merchant,
Pain. I know thein both; t'other's a jeweller.
Mer. 0, 'tis a worthy lord !
Jew. Nay, that's most fix'd.

Mer. A inost incomparable man; breath'd, as
To an untirable and contiunate goodness :
He passes.

it were,

Jew. I have a jewel here.
Mer. 0, pray, let's see't: For the lord Ti-

mon., Sir? Jew. If he will touch the estimate: But, for

that Poet. When we for recompense have prais'd

the vile,
It stains the glory in that happy verse
Which aptly sings the good.
Nier. "Iis a good form.

[Looking on the jewel. Jaw. And rich : here is a water, look you. Pain. You are rapt, Sir, in some work, somo

dedication To the great lord.

Poet. A thing slipp'd idly from me. Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes From whence 'tis pourished: The fire i'the flint Shows not, till it be struck; our gentle flame P'rovnkes itself, and, like the current, flics Each bound it chafes. What have you there? Pain. A picture, Sir. And when comes your

book forth? Poet. Upon the heels of my presentment, Sir. Let's see your piece,

Pain. 'Tis a good piece.
Poet. So 'lis: this comes off well and excellent..
Pain. Indifferent,

Poet. Admirable: How this grace
Speaks his own standing! what a mental power
This eye shoots forth! how big imagination
Moves in this lip! to the dumbness of the gesture
One might interpret.

Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life. llere is a touch ; Is't good ?

Poet. I'll say of it,