University of Virginia Library

TIMON of ATHENS.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

A HALL in Timon's House.
Enter Poet and Painter.
POET.
Good day, Sir.

Pain.
I am glad y' are well.

Poet.
I have not seen you long; how goes the world?

Pain.
It wears, Sir, as it goes.

Poet.
Ay, that's well known.
But what particular rarity? what so strange,
Which manifold record not matches? see!
Jeweller and Merchant enter; other Suitors pass over the Stage.
Magick of bounty! all these spirits thy power
Hath conjur'd to attend. I know the merchant.

Pain.
I know them both; th' other's a jeweller.

Mer.
O 'tis a worthy Lord!

Jew.
Nay, that's most fixt.

Mer.
A most incomparable man, breath'd as it were
To an untirable and continuate goodness.

Jew.
I have a jewel here.

Mer.
O, pray, let's see 't:
For the Lord Timon, Sir?

Jew.
If he will touch the estimate: but for that—

[Exeunt Merchant and Jeweller.
Poet.
[to himself.]
When we for recompense have prais'd the vile,
It stains the glory in that happy verse
Which aptly sings the good.

Pain.
You're rapt, Sir, in some work, some dedication
To the great Lord.

Poet.
A thing slipt idly from me.
Our poesie is as a gum, which issues
From whence 'tis nourished.
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 'tis,
This comes off well and excellent.

Pain.
Indiff'rent.

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 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 say of it,
It tutors nature; artificial strife
Lives in those touches, livelier than life.

Enter certain Senators, and pass on.
Pain.
How this Lord is followed!

Poet.
The Senators of Athens! happy man!

Pain.
Look, more!

Poet.
You see this confluence, this great flood of visiters
I have upon a high and pleasant hill
Feign'd Fortune to be thron'd. The base o' th' mount
Is rank'd with all deserts, all kind of natures,
That labour on the bosom of this sphere
To propagate their states: amongst them all,
Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady fixt,
One do I personate of Timon's frame,
Whom Fortune with her iv'ry hand wafts to her,
Whose present grace to present slaves and servants
Translates his rivals.

Pain.
'Tis conceiv'd to th' scope.
This throne, this fortune, and this hill, methinks,
With one man becken'd from the rest below,
Bowing his head against the steepy mount
To climb his happiness, would be well exprest
In our condition.

Poet.
Nay, but hear me on:
When Fortune in her shift 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 slip down,
Not one accompanying his declining foot.

Pain.
'Tis common:
A thousand moral paintings I can shew,
That shall demonstrate these quick blows of fortune
More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well
To shew Lord Timon, that mean eyes have seen
The foot above the head.

SCENE II.

Flourish of Trumpets. Timon attended by several Suitors Senators, Jeweller, Merchant, &c. &c. addressing himself courteously to every one.
Tim.
Imprison'd is he, say you?

[to a Messeng
Mes.
Ay, my good Lord; five talents is his debt,
His means most short, his creditors most straight:
Your honourable letter he desires
To those have shut 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.

Mes.
Your Lordship ever binds him.

Tim.
Commend me to him, I will send his ransom;
And, being enfranchiz'd, bid him come to me;
'Tis not enough to help the feeble up,
But to support him after. Fare you well.

Mes.
All happiness to your honour!

[Exit.
Poet.
Vouchsafe my labour, and long live your Lordship.

Tim.
I thank you, you shall hear from me anon:
Go not away. What have you there, my friend?

Pain.
A piece of painting, which I do beseech
Your Lordship to accept.

Tim.
Painting is welcome.
The painted is almost the natural man:
For since dishonour trafficks with man's nature,
He is but outside: pencil'd figures are
Ev'n such as they give out. I like your work;
And you shall find I like it: wait attendance
Till you hear further from me.

Pain.
The Gods preserve ye!

Tim.
Well fare you, Gentleman; give me your hand,
[to the Merchant.
We must needs dine together—Sir, your jewel
Hath suffer'd under praise.

Jew.
What, my Lord? dispraise?

Tim.
A meer satiety of commendations.
If I should pay you for't, as 'tis extoll'd,
It would unclew me quite.

Jew.
Believ't, dear Lord,
You mend the jewel by the wearing it.

Tim.
Well mock'd.

Mer.
No, my good Lord, it is the common tongue,
Which all men speak with him.

Tim.
Look who comes here.
Enter Apemantus.
Will you be chid?

Jew.
We'll bear it with your Lordship.

Mer.
He'll spare none.

Tim.
Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus!

Apem.
Till I be gentle, stay for thy good morrow;
When thou art Timon's dog, and these knaves honest.

Tim.
Why dost thou call them knaves, thou know'st them not?

Apem.
Are they not Athenians?

Tim.
Yes.

Apem.
Then I repent not.

Jew.
You know me, Apemantus?

Apem.
Thou know'st I do, I call'd thee by thy name.

Tim.
Thou art proud, Apemantus.

Apem.
Of nothing so much, as that I am not like Timon.

Tim.
How lik'st thou this picture, Apemantus?

Apem.
The best for the innocence.

Tim.
Wrought he not well that painted it?

Apem.

He wrought better, that made the painter:
and yet he's but a filthy piece of work.

Tim.

How dost thou like this jewel, Apemantus?

Apem.

Not so well as plain-dealing, which will not
cost a man a doit.

Tim.

What dost thou think 'tis worth?

Apem.

Not worth my thinking—How now, poet?

Poet.

How now, philosopher?

Apem.

Thou liest.

Poet.

Art thou not one?

Apem.

Yes.

Poet.

Then I lie not.

Apem.

Art not a poet?

Poet.

Yes.

Apem.

Then thou liest: look in thy last work, where
thou hast feign'd him a worthy fellow.

Poet.

That's not feign'd, he is so.

Apem.

Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay thee
for thy labour. He that loves to be flattered, is worthy
o' th' flatterer. Heav'ns, that I were a lord!

Tim.

What would'st do then, Apemantus?

Apem.

Ev'n as Apemantus does now, hate a Lord
with my heart.

Tim.

What, thyself?

Apem.

Ay.

Tim.

Wherefore?

Apem.
That I had so hungry a wit to be a Lord.—
Art thou not a merchant?

Mer.
Ay, Apemantus.

Apem.
Traffick confound thee, if the gods will not.

Mer.
If traffick do it, the gods do it.

Apem.
Traffick's thy god, and thy god confound thee!

Trumpets sound. Enter a Messenger.
Tim.
What trumpet's that?

Mes.
'Tis Alcibiades and some twenty horse,
All of companionship.

Tim.
Pray entertain them, give them guide to us;
[Exit.
You must all dine with me—Go not you hence,
Till I have thank't you; and when dinner's done,
Shew me this piece. I'm joyful of your sights.
Enter Alcibiades with the rest.
Most welcome, Sir!

[Bowing and embracing.
Apem.

So, so! Aches contract, and starve your supple
joints! that there should be small love amongst these
sweet knaves, and all this courtesie! the strain of man's
bred out into baboon and monkey.

Alc.
You have even sav'd my longing, and I feed
Most hungerly on your sight.

Tim.
Right welcome, Sir.
E'er we do part, we'll share a bounteous time
In diff'rent pleasures. Pray you, let us in.

[Exeunt.
Manet Apemantus.
Apem.
O you gods! what a number of men eat
Timon, and he sees 'em not? It grieves me to see
So many dip their meat in one man's blood,
And all the madness is, he cheers them up too.
I wonder, men dare trust themselves with men!

SCENE III.

Enter Lucius and Lucullus.
Luc.

What time o' day is't, Apemantus?

Apem.

Time to be honest.

Luc.

That time serves still.

Apem.

The most accursed thou that still omitt'st it.

Lucul.

Thou art going to Lord Timon's feast.

Apem.

Ay, to see meat fill knaves, and wine heat fools.

Lucul.

Fare thee well, fare thee well.

Apem.

Thou art a fool to bid me farewel twice.

Lucul.

Why, Apemantus?

Apem.

Thou should'st have kept one to thyself, for
I mean to give thee none.

Luc.

Hang thyself.

Apem.

No, I will do nothing at thy bidding: make
thy requests to thy friend.

Lucul.

Away, unpeaceable dog, or—I'll spurn
thee hence.

Apem.

I will fly, like a dog, the heels o' th' ass.

[Exit Apemantus.
Luc.
He's opposite to humanity.
Come, shall we in, and taste Lord Timon's bounty?
He, sure, outgoes the very heart of kindness.

Lucul.
He pours it out. Plutus, the god of gold,
Is but his steward: no meed but he repays
Sevenfold above itself; no gift to him,
But breeds the giver a return exceeding
All use of quittance.

Luc.
The noblest mind he carries,
That ever govern'd man.

Lucul.
Long may he live in fortunes! Shall we in?

Luc.
I'll keep you company.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

A magnificent assembly room, finely decorated and illuminated.
Timon, Alcibiades, Lucius, Lucullus, Senators and Suitors.
Timon.
“So, so! why this is well. But where's my daughter?
“Where is Evanthe? she's the mistress spirit
“That conjures up these revels.

Lucius.
“Lo! she comes.—

Evanthe advances from the back scene, attended by a train of Ladies.
Timon.
“Give the flutes breath!

[flutes.
Luc
“Mark, how the general's rapt; I like not that.

Alcib.
“Hah! what new wonder; what enchantment holds me?
“All that I view is splendid, rare and noble:
“But she (great Gods!) oh, she—Henceforward, Timon,
“When I wou'd tell the sum of thy possessions,
“I'll say thou hast a daughter: all things else
“I hold not worth the naming.

Evanthe.
“Welcome, Sir!

Alcib.
“Thanks, matchless Lady; not the rosy morn,
“When she brings fame and victory on her wings,
“E'er blest me with such beauties.

Tim.
“Pray ye sit:
“And as, in honour of our warlike guest,
“The shrill-ton'd clarions in loud concert pour
“Their swelling peal, a band of Lydian dancers
“Shall all the while their airy measures tread
“Responsive to the strain.”

Here a grand dance is introduced to martial musick. The characters range on each side, some sitting, Alcibiades next to Evanthe; he discourses with her during the dance.
Tim.
You have done our pleasures much grace, gentle friends!
Set a fair fashion on our entertainment,
By adding worth unto't, and lively lustre,
I am to thank you for it. Flavius?

Flav.

My Lord.

Tim.

The little casket bring me hither.

Flav.

Yes, my Lord. More jewels yet? there is no
crossing him in's humour,

Else I could tell him—well—

Luc.
Where be our men?

Serv.
Here, my Lord, in readiness.

Tim.
O my good friends!
I have one word to say to you; look, my Lord,
I must intreat you, honour me so much
As to advance this jewel, accept, and wear it,
Kind my Lord!

Luc.
I am so far already in your gifts,—

All.
So are we all.

Tim.

You do yourselves much wrong, you bate too
much of your own merits. Here, my Lord, a trifle
of our love.

Luc.

With more than common thanks, I do receive
it.

Lucul.

He has the very soul of bounty.

Tim.

And now I remember, my Lord, you gave
good words the other day, of a bay courser I rode on.
'Tis yours, because you lik'd it.

Lucul.

Oh, I beseech you, pardon me, my Lord,
in that.

Tim.

You may take my word, my Lord: I know no
man can justly praise, but what he does affect. I weigh
my friend's affection with my own; I'll call on you.

All Lords.

O, none so welcome.

Tim.
I take all, and your several visitations
So kind to heart, 'tis not enough to give
My thanks; I could deal kingdoms to my friends,
And ne'er be weary. Alcibiades,
Thou art a soldier, therefore seldom rich,
It comes in charity to thee; thy living
Is 'mongst the dead; and all the lands thou hast
Lie in a pitcht field.

Alc.
I defy land, my Lord.

Luc.
We are so virtuously bound—

Tim.
And so am I to you.

Lucul.
So infinitely endear'd—

Tim.
All to you. Lights! more lights, more lights!
Come, Sirs, there is a trifling banquet waits you.

Luc.
The best of happiness, honour and fortunes,
Keep you, Lord Timon—

Tim.
Ready for his friends.

[Exeunt Lords.
Manent Timon and Flavius.
Flav.

I beseech your honour, vouchsafe me a word;
it does concern you near.

Tim.

Me near? Why then another time I'll hear thee;
I pry'thee let's be provided to shew them entertainment.

Flav.

I scarce know how.

[Exeunt.