Athens. A Hall in TIMON’S House. | |
| |
Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and Others, at several doors. | |
| Poet. Good day, sir. | |
| Pain. I am glad you’re well. | 4 |
| Poet. I have not seen you long. How goes the world? | |
| Pain. It wears, sir, as it grows. | |
| Poet. Ay, that’s well known; | |
| But what particular rarity? what strange, | 8 |
| Which manifold record not matches? See, | |
| Magic 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. | 12 |
| Mer. O! ’tis a worthy lord. | |
| Jew. Nay, that’s most fix’d. | |
| Mer. A most incomparable man, breath’d, as it were, | |
| To an untirable and continuate goodness: | 16 |
| He passes. | |
| 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— | 20 |
| Poet. When we for recompense have prais’d the vile. | |
| It stains the glory in that happy verse | |
| Which aptly sings the good. | |
| Mer. [Looking at the jewel.] ’Tis a good form. | 24 |
| Jew. And rich: here is a water, look ye. | |
| Pain. You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedication | |
| To the great lord. | |
| Poet. A thing slipp’d idly from me. | 28 |
| Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes | |
| From whence ’tis nourish’d: the fire i’ the flint | |
| Shows not till it be struck; our gentle flame | |
| Provokes itself, and, like the current flies | 32 |
| Each bound it chafes. What have you there? | |
| Pain. A picture, sir. When comes your book forth? | |
| Poet. Upon the heels of my presentment, sir. | |
| Let’s see your piece. | 36 |
| Pain. ’Tis a good piece. | |
| Poet. So ’tis: this comes off well and excellent. | |
| Pain. Indifferent. | |
| Poet. Admirable! How this grace | 40 |
| 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. | 44 |
| 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 | 48 |
| Lives in these touches, livelier than life. | |
| |
Enter certain Senators, who pass over the stage. | |
| Pain. How this lord is follow’d! | |
| Poet. The senators of Athens: happy man! | 52 |
| Pain. Look, more! | |
| Poet. You see this confluence, this great flood of visitors. | |
| I have, in this rough work, shap’d out a man, | |
| Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug | 56 |
| With amplest entertainment: my free drift | |
| Halts not particularly, but moves itself | |
| In a wide sea of wax: no levell’d malice | |
| Infects one comma in the course I hold; | 60 |
| But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on, | |
| Leaving no tract behind. | |
| Pain. How shall I understand you? | |
| Poet. I will unbolt to you. | 64 |
| You see how all conditions, how all minds— | |
| As well of glib and slippery creatures as | |
| Of grave and austere quality—tender down | |
| Their services to Lord Timon: his large fortune, | 68 |
| Upon his good and gracious nature hanging, | |
| Subdues and properties to his love and tendance | |
| All sorts of hearts; yea, from the glass-fac’d flatterer | |
| To Apemantus, that few things loves better | 72 |
| Than to abhor himself: even he drops down | |
| The knee before him and returns in peace | |
| Most rich in Timon’s nod. | |
| Pain. I saw them speak together. | 76 |
| Poet. Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill | |
| Feign’d Fortune to be thron’d: the base o’ the mount | |
| Is rank’d with all deserts, all kind of natures, | |
| That labour on the bosom of this sphere | 80 |
| To propagate their states: amongst them all, | |
| Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady fix’d, | |
| One do I personate of Lord Timon’s frame, | |
| Whom Fortune with her ivory hand wafts to her; | 84 |
| Whose present grace to present slaves and servants | |
| Translates his rivals. | |
| Pain. ’Tis conceiv’d to scope. | |
| This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks, | 88 |
| With one man beckon’d from the rest below, | |
| Bowing his head against the steepy mount | |
| To climb his happiness, would be well express’d | |
| In our condition. | 92 |
| Poet. Nay, sir, but hear me on. | |
| All those which were his fellows but of late, | |
| Some better than his value, on the moment | |
| Follow his strides, his lobbies fill with tendance, | 96 |
| Rain sacrificial whisperings in his ear, | |
| Make sacred even his stirrup, and through him | |
| Drink the free air. | |
| Pain. Ay, marry, what of these? | 100 |
| Poet. When Fortune in her shift and change of mood | |
| Spurns down her late belov’d, all his dependants | |
| Which labour’d after him to the mountain’s top | |
| Even on their knees and hands, let him slip down, | 104 |
| Not one accompanying his declining foot. | |
| Pain. ’Tis common: | |
| A thousand moral paintings I can show | |
| That shall demonstrate these quick blows of Fortune’s | 108 |
| More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well | |
| To show Lord Timon that mean eyes have seen | |
| The foot above the head. | |
| |
Trumpets sound. Enter LORD TIMON, addressing himself courteously to every suitor; a Messenger from VENTIDIUS talking with him; LUCILIUS and other servants following. | 112 |
| Tim. Imprison’d is he, say you? | |
| Mess. Ay, my good lord: five talents is his debt, | |
| His means most short, his creditors most strait: | |
| Your honourable letter he desires | 116 |
| To those have shut him up; which, failing, | |
| Periods his comfort. | |
| Tim. Noble Ventidius! Well; | |
| I am not of that feather to shake off | 120 |
| My friend when he must need me. I do know him | |
| A gentleman that well deserves a help, | |
| Which he shall have: I’ll pay the debt and free him. | |
| Mess. Your lordship ever binds him. | 124 |
| Tim. Commend me to him. I will send his ransom; | |
| And being enfranchis’d, bid him come to me. | |
| ’Tis not enough to help the feeble up, | |
| But to support him after. Fare you well. | 128 |
| Mess. All happiness to your honour. [Exit. | |
| |
Enter an Old Athenian. | |
| Old Ath. Lord Timon, hear me speak. | |
| Tim. Freely, good father. | 132 |
| Old Ath. Thou hast a servant nam’d Lucilius. | |
| Tim. I have so: what of him? | |
| Old Ath. Most noble Timon, call the man before thee. | |
| Tim. Attends he here or no? Lucilius! | 136 |
| Luc. Here, at your lordship’s service. | |
| Old Ath. This fellow here, Lord Timon, this thy creature, | |
| By night frequents my house. I am a man | |
| That from my first have been inclin’d to thrift, | 140 |
| And my estate deserves an heir more rais’d | |
| Than one which holds a trencher. | |
| Tim. Well; what further? | |
| Old Ath. One only daughter have I, no kin else, | 144 |
| On whom I may confer what I have got: | |
| The maid is fair, o’ the youngest for a bride, | |
| And I have bred her at my dearest cost | |
| In qualities of the best. This man of thine | 148 |
| Attempts her love: I prithee, noble lord, | |
| Join with me to forbid him her resort; | |
| Myself have spoke in vain. | |
| Tim. The man is honest. | 152 |
| Old Ath. Therefore he will be, Timon: | |
| His honesty rewards him in itself; | |
| It must not bear my daughter. | |
| Tim. Does she love him? | 156 |
| Old Ath. She is young and apt: | |
| Our own precedent passions do instruct us | |
| What levity’s in youth. | |
| Tim. [To LUCILIUS.] Love you the maid? | 160 |
| Luc. Ay, my good lord, and she accepts of it. | |
| Old Ath. If in her marriage my consent be missing, | |
| I call the gods to witness, I will choose | |
| Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world, | 164 |
| And dispossess her all. | |
| Tim. How shall she be endow’d, | |
| If she be mated with an equal husband? | |
| Old Ath. Three talents on the present; in future, all. | 168 |
| Tim. This gentleman of mine hath serv’d me long: | |
| To build his fortune I will strain a little, | |
| For ’tis a bond in men. Give him thy daughter; | |
| What you bestow, in him I’ll counterpoise, | 172 |
| And make him weigh with her. | |
| Old Ath. Most noble lord, | |
| Pawn me to this your honour, she is his. | |
| Tim. My hand to thee; mine honour on my promise. | 176 |
| Luc. Humbly I thank your lordship: never may | |
| That state or fortune fall into my keeping | |
| Which is not ow’d to you! [Exeunt LUCILIUS and Old Athenian. | |
| Poet. Vouchsafe my labour, and long live your lordship! | 180 |
| 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. | 184 |
| Tim. Painting is welcome. | |
| The painting is almost the natural man; | |
| For since dishonour traffics with man’s nature, | |
| He is but outside: these pencil’d figures are | 188 |
| Even 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 you! | 192 |
| Tim. Well fare you, gentleman: give me your hand; | |
| We must needs dine together. Sir, your jewel | |
| Hath suffer’d under praise. | |
| Jew. What, my lord! dispraise? | 196 |
| Tim. A mere satiety of commendations. | |
| If I should pay you for ’t as ’tis extoll’d, | |
| It would unclew me quite. | |
| Jew. My lord, ’tis rated | 200 |
| As those which sell would give: but you well know, | |
| Things of like value, differing in the owners, | |
| Are prized by their masters. Believe ’t, dear lord, | |
| You mend the jewel by the wearing it. | 204 |
| Tim. Well mock’d. | |
| Mer. No, my good lord; he speaks the common tongue, | |
| Which all men speak with him. | |
| Tim. Look, who comes here. Will you be chid? | 208 |
| |
Enter APEMANTUS. | |
| Jew. We’ll bear, with your lordship. | |
| Mer. He’ll spare none. | |
| Tim. Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus! | 212 |
| Apem. Till I be gentle, stay thou 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? | 216 |
| 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. | 220 |
| Tim. Thou art proud, Apemantus. | |
| Apem. Of nothing so much as that I am not like Timon. | |
| Tim. Whither art going? | |
| Apem. To knock out an honest Athenian’s brains. | 224 |
| Tim. That’s a deed thou’lt die for. | |
| Apem. Right, if doing nothing be death by the law. | |
| Tim. How likest thou this picture, Apemantus? | |
| Apem. The best, for the innocence. | 228 |
| 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. | |
| Pain. You’re a dog. | |
| Apem. Thy mother’s of my generation: what’s she, if I be a dog? | 232 |
| Tim. Wilt dine with me, Apemantus? | |
| Apem. No; I eat not lords. | |
| Tim. An thou shouldst, thou’dst anger ladies. | |
| Apem. O! they eat lords; so they come by great bellies. | 236 |
| Tim. That’s a lascivious apprehension. | |
| Apem. So thou apprehendest it, take it for thy labour. | |
| Tim. How dost thou like this jewel, Apemantus? | |
| Apem. Not so well as plain-dealing, which will not cost a man a doit. | 240 |
| Tim. What dost thou think ’tis worth? | |
| Apem. Not worth my thinking. How now, poet! | |
| Poet. How now, philosopher! | |
| Apem. Thou liest. | 244 |
| Poet. Art not one? | |
| Apem. Yes. | |
| Poet. Then I lie not. | |
| Apem. Art not a poet? | 248 |
| Poet. Yes. | |
| Apem. Then thou liest: look in thy last work, where thou hast feigned him a worthy fellow. | |
| Poet. That’s not feigned; 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’ the flatterer. Heavens, that I were a lord! | 252 |
| Tim. What wouldst do then, Apemantus? | |
| Apem. Even as Apemantus does now; hate a lord with my heart. | |
| Tim. What, thyself? | |
| Apem. Ay. | 256 |
| Tim. Wherefore? | |
| Apem. That I had no angry wit to be a lord. Art not thou a merchant? | |
| Mer. Ay, Apemantus. | |
| Apem. Traffic confound thee, if the gods will not! | 260 |
| Mer. If traffic do it, the gods do it. | |
| Apem. Traffic’s thy god, and thy god confound thee! | |
| |
Trumpet sounds. Enter a Servant. | |
| Tim. What trumpet’s that? | 264 |
| Serv. ’Tis Alcibiades, and some twenty horse, | |
| All of companionship. | |
| Tim. Pray, entertain them; give them guide to us. [Exeunt some Attendants. | |
| You must needs dine with me. Go not you hence | 268 |
| Till I have thanked you; when dinner’s done, | |
| Show me this piece. I am joyful of your sights. | |
| |
Enter ALCIBIADES, with his Company. | |
| Most welcome, sir! | 272 |
| Apem. So, so, there! | |
| Aches contract and starve your supple joints! | |
| That there should be small love ’mongst these sweet knaves, | |
| And all this courtesy! The strain of man’s bred out | 276 |
| Into baboon and monkey. | |
| Alcib. Sir, you have sav’d my longing, and I feed | |
| Most hungerly on your sight. | |
| Tim. Right welcome, sir! | 280 |
| Ere we depart, we’ll share a bounteous time | |
| In different pleasures. Pray you, let us in. [Exeunt all except APEMANTUS. | |
| |
Enter two Lords. | |
| First Lord. What time o’ day is ’t, Apemantus? | 284 |
| Apem. Time to be honest. | |
| First Lord. That time serves still. | |
| Apem. The more accursed thou, that still omitt’st it. | |
| Sec. Lord. Thou art going to Lord Timon’s feast? | 288 |
| Apem. Ay; to see meat fill knaves and wine heat fools. | |
| Sec. Lord. Fare thee well, fare thee well. | |
| Apem. Thou art a fool to bid me farewell twice. | |
| Sec. Lord. Why, Apemantus? | 292 |
| Apem. Shouldst have kept one to thyself, for I mean to give thee none. | |
| First Lord. Hang thyself! | |
| Apem. No, I will do nothing at thy bidding: make thy requests to thy friend. | |
| Sec. Lord. Away, unpeaceable dog! or I’ll spurn thee hence. | 296 |
| Apem. I will fly, like a dog, the heels of an ass. [Exit. | |
| First Lord. He’s opposite to humanity. Come, shall we in, | |
| And taste Lord Timon’s bounty? he outgoes | |
| The very heart of kindness. | 300 |
| Sec. Lord. 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 | 304 |
| All use of quittance. | |
| First Lord. The noblest mind he carries | |
| That ever govern’d man. | |
| Sec. Lord. Long may he live in fortunes! | 308 |
| Shall we in? | |
| First Lord. I’ll keep you company. [Exeunt. | |
