FROM Dramatis Perfonæ. TIMON, A noble Athenian. Lucius, Lucullus, } two flattering Lords. Apemantus, a churlish Philofopher. Ventidius, one of Timon's falfe Friends. Phrynia, Timandra, Mißtresses to Alcibiades. Thieves, Senators, Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Mercen and Merchant; with divers fervants and attendants. SCENE, Athens; and the Woods not far from it. 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, 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) 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 Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life: 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) Poet. You fee this confluence, this great flood of vifiters. Pain. How fhall I understand you? You fee, how all conditions, how all minds, 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, Pain. 'Tis conceiv'd to th' Scope. (3) This throne, this Fortune, and this Hill, methinks, Poet. Nay, but hear me on: All those which were his fellows but of late, Make facred even his stirrop; and through him 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 (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 |