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Dramatis Perfonæ.

TIMON, A noble Athenian.

Lucius,

Lucullus, }

two flattering Lords.

Apemantus, a churlish Philofopher.
Sempronius, another flattering Lord.
Alcibiades, an Athenian General.
Flavius, Steward to Timon.

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Ventidius, one of Timon's falfe Friends.
Cupid and Maskers.

Phrynia,

Timandra, Mißtresses to Alcibiades.
S

Thieves, Senators, Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Mercen and Merchant; with divers fervants and attendants.

SCENE, Athens; and the Woods not far from it.

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TIMON of ATHENS.

A C T I.

SCENE, A Hall in Timon's House.

Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and Mercer, at feveral doors.

POET.

OOD day, Sir.

Pain. I am glad y' are well.

Poet. I have not feen 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? fee,
(Magick of Bounty!) all thefe 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 moft incomparable man, breath'd as it were To an untirable and continuate goodness,

He paffes

Few. I have a jewel here.

Mer.

S.

Mer. O, pray, let's fee't:

For the lord Timon, Sir?

4

Jew. If he will touch the estimate: but for that— Poet. When we for recompence have prais'd the vile, It stains the glory in that happy verse

Which aptly fings the good.

Mer. 'Tis a good form.

[Looking on the jewel.

Jew. And rich; here is a water, look ye.

Pain. You're rapt, Sir, in fome Work, fome dedication

To the

great lord.

Poet. A thing flipt idly from me.

Our Poefie is as a Gum, which iffues

From whence 'tis nourished. The fire i'th' flint

Shews not, 'till it be struck: our gentle flame

Provokes it felf,

-and like the current flies

What have

Each Bound it chafes.

Pain. A picture, Sir:

you there? (1)
book forth?

when comes your

Poet. Upon the heels of my presentment, Sir.

Let's fee 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 ftanding? what a mental power
This eye fhoots 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 fay of it,

It tutors Nature; artificial ftrife

Lives in those touches, livelier than life.

(1) Each Bound it chases.-] How, chafes? The Flood, indeed, beating up upon the Shore, covers a Part of it, but cannot be faid to drive the Shore away. The Poet's Allufion is to a Wave, which, foaming and chafing on the Shore, breaks; and then the Water seems to the Eye to retire.

Ent

Enter certain Senators.

Pain. How this lord is followed!

Poet. The Senators of Athens! happy man! (2)
Pain. Look, more!

Poet. You fee this confluence, this great flood of vifiters.
I have, in this rough Work, fhap'd out a Man,
Whom this beneath-world doth embrace and hug
With ampleft entertainment. My free drift
Halts not particular, but moves itself
In a wide fea of wax; no levell'd malice
Infects one Comma in the course I hold,
But flies an eagle-flight, bold, and forth on,
Leaving no tract behind.

Pain. How fhall I understand you?
Poet. I'll unbolt to you.

You fee, how all conditions, how all minds,
As well of glib and flipp'ry creatures, as
Of grave and auftere quality, tender down
Their Service to lord Timon: his large fortune,
Upon his good and gracious nature hanging,
Subdues and properties to his love and tendance
All forts of hearts; yea, from the glafs-fac'd flatterer
To Apemantus, that few things loves better
Than to abhor himself; ev'n he drops down
The knee before him, and returns in peace
Moft rich in Timon's nod.

Pain. I faw them fpeak together.

Poet. I have upon a high and pleasant hill Feign'd Fortune to be thron'd. The Bafe o'th' mount Is rank'd with all deferts, all kind of natures, That labour on the bofom of this sphere To propagate their ftates; amongst them all, Whofe eyes are on this fov'reign lady fixt,

(2) Happy Men!] Thus the printed Copies: but I cannot think the Poet meant, that the Senators were happy in being admitted to Timon; their Quality might command That : but that Timon was happy in being follow'd, and carefs'd, by those of their Rank and Dignity.

On

One do I perfonate of Timon's frame,

Whom Fortune with her iv'ry hand wafts to her,
Whose present grace to present flaves and fervants
Tranflates his rivals.

Pain. 'Tis conceiv'd to th' Scope. (3)

This throne, this Fortune, and this Hill, methinks,
With one man becken'd from the rest below,
Bowing his head against the fteepy mount
To climb his happiness, would be well exprest
In our condition.

Poet. Nay, but hear me on:

All those which were his fellows but of late,
Some better than his value, on the moment
Follow his ftrides; his lobbies fill with tendance;
Rain facrificial whifp'rings in his ear;

Make facred even his stirrop; and through him
Drink the free air.

Pain. Ay, marry, what of these?

Poet. When Fortune in her fhift 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 flip down, Not one accompanying his declining foot. Pain. 'Tis common:

A thousand moral Paintings I can fhew,

That fhall demonftrate these quick blows of fortune
More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well
To fhew lord Timon, that mean eyes have seen
The foot above the head.

(3) 'Tis conceiv'd, to scope

This Throne, this Fortune, &c.] Thus all the Editors hitherto have nonfenfically writ, and pointed, this Paffage. But, fure, the Painter would tell the Poet, your Conception, Sir, hits the very Scope you aim at. This the Greeks would have render'd, т axonỸ Tuxes, rectà ad Scopum tendis: and Cicero has thus exprefs'd on the like Occafion, Signum ocalis deftinatum feris.

Trumpets

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