University of Virginia Library

Scena quinta.

Enter Timon Callimela Philargurus Gelasimus Hermogenes Pseudocheus Eutrapelus Demeas Laches Blatte.
Tim:
Soe I embrace thee in my armes who art
My life & light.

Callim:
O how such sweete embraces I desire
Who without thee am neither life nor light.

Gela:
Shee sees not mee as yet, if once shee did
I know shee would put finger in the eye.

Calli:
Thou art my Titan, I thy Cynthia
ffrom thy bright beames my beauty is deriu'd

Gela:
Can the Kings daughter of th'Antipodes
Speake soe compleately?

Pseud:
Shee hath a parrot
Can speake more elegantly.

Gela:
That is well.

Tim:
My life why doe wee thus delay the time?
Ile plight to thee my trothe in Pallas temple
Art thou well pleas'd with this my hony?

Calli:
What pleases Timon cannot mee displease

Phila:
Timon thou hast a wife morigerous
Shee is the onely comfort of my age.

Lach:
Thou li'st, thou thinkest thy gold a sweeter

(Aside.)
Dem.

Let it bee lawfull for mee (most honorable not onerable paire) awhile
to reteyne & deteyne ligate & obligate your eares with my words
neither aspersed or inspersed with the flore or rore of eloquence, yee
are both like in nature, & in nurture alike in Genius & both alike
ingenuous. What Timon refuses Callimela refuses, what Callimela
wills Timon also wills, soe that Callimela may not bee but Timons
Callimela, and Timon but Callimelas Timon.

Eutr.
Holde thou thy peace thou pratling orator
Hence with thy tropes: let's hie to the temple
Hermogenes out of thy greazy throate
Sing vs some sweete Epithalamion.

Lach:
Heele croke it like a frogge I knowe, I feare
Least this extrauagant singing fidler
Hath quite forgotte his arte.

Herm:
I sing among the people? I? what I?
Is not Hermogenes a noble? my page
Shall acte my parte: if hee sing not a song
Of sweeter harmony than Orpheus
I neuer more will sattin breeches weare.

The Musicians playe and Hermogenes page sings.

All.
Hymen o Hymen Hymenæus Hymen.
Let Hymens ioyfull saffron weede
Assiste them alwaies at their neede

All:
Hymen o Hymen Hymenæus Hymen.
Let Phœbus hide his light
And day bee turn'd to night
That the new bride now may
The bridegroomes flames allay
Let Cupid straw loue flowres
Venus augment love houres

All:
Hymen o Hymen Hymenæus Hymen.
Let Hymens ioyfull saffron weede
Assiste them alwaies at their neede

All.
Hymen o Hymen Hymenæus Hymen.

Enter a shippwrackte Sayler.
Sayl:
Immortall Gods why mocke yee mortalls thus?
Where shall I finde Timon, wretched Timon?

Tim:
Who with such clamors interupts our ioyes?
Speake whatsoe're it is.

Sayl:
I bring thee heauy newes, thy shippes are drown'd
In Neptunes waues not one of them arriu'd

Lach:
The Gods forbidde.

Sayl:
Neptune thy foe hath wrought thee this mishappe
And swallow'd vppe thy gemmes in his vast wombe
And neuer will restore them backe again.
Exit Sayler.

Tim:
At lengthe I knowe what misery doth meane.

Philar:
Hence Callimele hence from that beggers side.

Gela:
Thou would'st not haue mee to thy sonne in law
What doth it yet repent thee?

Phil:
Giue mee my daughter, why dost thou claspe her?
Shees none of thine.

Tim:
Doth Callimele say soe?

Callim:
I loued Timon riche not Timon poore
Thou art not now the man thou wast before

Philar:
This is my wisedome, this shee learn'd of mee

Tim:
Wealth being loste the loue which was remaines
Why dost thou soe inconstantly revolte?
Beholde the light of Hymenæus lampes
Why turnest thou thy face away from mee?
What am I such an eiesore now to thee?

Philar:
Away, away thou poore three farthing Iacke
Thou faggende of the people get thee hence
Touche not my daughter thou.

Tim.
Callimela.

Blat:
Thus goods & loue are shippewrackt both at once
Come, I'le receaue thee into fauour, come.

Philar:
Base pouertie doth followe luxury
Get home & liue by mending of olde shoes
Spende not whole daies in drunken Bacchus cuppes
Goe home thou slaue, or here with hunger pin'd
Belche out thy soule. I hate a man thats poore
Hees worse than any homicide.

Tim:

Herm:
Why dost thou not lamente Eutrapelus?

Eutr:
My eies are of Pumice stone I cannot

Gela:
To morrow Callimela I will sayle
To the Kings daughter of Antipodes
Expect mee not thy sutor any more.

Tim.
Doth noe small sparcle of thy loue remaine?

Philar:/
Hence my sweete girle vouchsafe him not one worde
Hees worse than a crocodile or serpent
Nay worse than the diuell himselfe.

Gela:
Why soe?

Philar:
Because hees poore.

Gela:
Ha ha he.
How melancholy walkes hee to & fro?
Thou shalt if that thou wilt mende my olde shoes

Lach:
I will not see my Mr thus abus'd
I'le rather die, what dost? whom speakst thou to?
Hence least thou feele my cholericke reuenge
And quickly to bee gone I say, thou foole
Dost thou deride my masters miseries?

Gela:
Thou knowst not how I hate these souldiers
That looke soe furious, come let vs goe
I am even sicke to see his face. vah

Eutr:
Weele goe along with thee.

Exeunt Gelasimus & Eutrapelus.
Herm:
Thy masters harde misfortune I lamente
Exit Hermog:

Dem:
Commend my loue to bee at his commaunde.
Exit Demeas.

Lach:
The shadowes all are gone, noe sunne shines here
Mr why muse you thus? what thinke you on?
Why are your eyes soe fixed on the earth?
Pull vp your spirits, all aduersity
By patience is made more tolerable.

Tim:/
Great father of the Gods, what wickednes
What impious sinne haue I com̄itted?
What haue I piss'd vppon my fathers vrne?
Or haue I poyson'd my forefathers? what
What, what haue I deseru'd an innocent?

Lach:
His countenance bewraies his vexed soule. Aside


Tim:
O Ioue, o Ioue.
Haue I thy altar seldome visited?
Or haue I beene to proud? or yet deny'd
To succour poore men in necessity?
Not this, nor that: Yee Gods haue vow'd my fall
Thou thou hast vow'd it Ioue, against mee then
Discharge whole vollies of thy thunderclapps
And strike mee thorough with thy thunderbolte
Or with a sodeine flashe of lighteninge
Destroy mee quicke from thy supernall throne
I knowe not how to suffer pouertie
Who haue soe oft relieu'd the poore wth golde.

Lach:
Leaue of complaints, griefe augments misery.

Tim:
I am besides myselfe I knowe not how
Hymen why Hymen are thy lampes extincte?
Come light them once againe my bride's at hande
A fonde dreame Timon neuer shall deiecte
My Callimele complaines I stay to long
I come my light in dreames I'le come to thee

Lach:
Where rushe you heade-long? mr, Callimele
Hath lefte thee basely, & ingratefully
And hath despised thee, now thou art poore.

Tim:

Lach:
Comfort yourselfe, you haue some friends yet lefte [I]

Tim:
Is't possible a poore man should haue friends?

Lach:
Aduersitie cannot parte faithefull friends

Tim:
Hee is deceau'd that lookes for faithe on earthe
ffaithe is in heauen, & scornes mortall men.
I am compelled by necessity
To proue my friends: thus poore & destitute
I goe to seeke reliefe from other men.

Exeunt Timon & Laches.