Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB

So true, so juft, and now so comfortable ?
It almost turns my dangerous nature wild.
Let me behold thy face : surely, this man
Was born of woman.
Forgive my gen'ral and exceptless rashness,
Perpetual, sober Gods ! I do proclaim
One honeft man : mistake me not, but one:
No more, I pray; and he's a steward.
How fain would I have hated all mankind,
And thou redeem'st thy self: but all, save thee,
I fell with curses.
Methinks, thou art more honest now, than wise ;
For, by oppressing and betraying me,
Thou might't have sooner got another service:
For many so arrive at second masters,
Upon their first lord's neck. But tell me true,
(For I must ever doabt, though ne'er so sure)
Is not thy kindness subtle, covetous,
A usuring kindness, as rich men deal gifts,
Expecting in return twenty for one ?

Fla. No, my moft worthy master, (in whofe breast
Doubt and Suspect, alas, are plac'd too late,)
You should have fear'd false times, when you did feast;
Suspect ftill comes, where an estate is lealt.
That which I fhew, heav'n knows, is meerly love,
Duty, and Zeal, to your unmatched mind,
Care of your food and living: and, believe it,
For any benefit that points to me
Either in hope, or present, I'd exchange
For this one wish, that

power and wealth To requite me by making rich your self.

Tim. Look thee, 'tis so ; thou singly honest man, Here, take; the Gods out of my misery Have sent thee treasure. Go, live rich and happy : But thus condition'd ; Thou shalt build from men : Hate all, curse all, shew charity to none ; But let the famifht flesh slide from the bone, Ere thou relieve the beggar. Give to dogs What thou deny'st to men. Let prisons swallow 'em, Debts wither 'em ; be men like blasted woods,

you had

!

And
may
diseases lick

up

their falfe bloods ! And so farewel, and thrive.

Fla. O, let me stay, and comfort you, my Master.

Tim, If thou hat'st curses,
Stay not, but fly, whilst thou art bleft and free ;
Ne'er fee thou man, and let me ne'er see thee.

[Exeunt severally.
Enter Poet and Painter.
Pain. As I took note of the place, it can't be far where
he abides.

Poet. What's to be thought of him? does the ru. mour hold for true, that he's so full of gold?

Pain. Certain. Alcibiades reports it: Phrynia and Timandra had gold of him : he likewise enrich'd poor ftragling soldiers with great quantity. 'Tis said, he gave his steward a mighty sum.

Poet. Then this breaking of his has been but a tryal of his friends ?

Pain. Nothing else: you shall see him a palm in Athens again, and flourish with the highest. Therefore, 'tis not amiss, we tender our loves to him, in this suppos’d distress of his : it will shew honestly in us, and is very likely to load our purposes with what they travel for, if it be a just and true report that goes of his Having.

Poet. What have you now to present unto him?

Pain. Nothing at this time but my visitation : only I will promise him an excellent piece.

Poet. I must serve him so too; tell him of an intent that's coming toward him.

Pain. Good as the best : Promising is the very air o'th' time ; it opens the eyes of expectation. Performance is ever the duller for his act, and, but in the plainer and simpler kind of people, the deed is quite out of use. To promise, is most courtly, and fashionable ; performance is a kind of will or testament, which argues a great sickness in his judgment that makes it.

Re-enter

Re-enter Timon from his Cave, unseen. Tim. Excellent workman! thou canst not paint a man so bad as thy self.

Poet. I am thinking, what I shall say I have provided for him: it must be a personating of himself; a fatyr against the softness of prosperity, with a discovery of the infinite flatteries that follow youth and opulency.

Tim. Must thou needs stand for a villain in thine own work? wilt thou whip thine own faults in other men ? do so, I have gold for thee.

Poet. Nay, let's seek him.
Then do we sin against our own estate,
When we may Profit meet, and come too late.

Pain. True :
Poet. While the day serves, before black-corner'd

night, (28)
Find what thou want'st, by free and offer'd light.
Come.

Tim. I'll meet you at the turn
What a God's gold, that he is worshipped
In baser temples, than where Swine do feed !
'Tis thou that rigg’ft the bark, and plow'st the Wave, (29)
Settleft admired rev’rence in a slave;
To thee be Worship, and thy saints for aye
Be crown'd with plagues, that thee alone obey !
'Tis fit I meet them.

Poet. Hail ! worthy Timon,
Pain. Our late noble master.
Tim. Have I once liv'd to see two honeft men ?

(28) While the day serves, &c.] This Couplet in all the · Editions is placed to the Painter, but, as it is in Rhyme, and a Sequel of the Sentiment begun by the Poet, I have made. no Scruple to ascribe it to him.

(29) 'Tis thou that rigg's the Bark; and plow's the Foam, Setilest admired Rev’rence in a Slave; ] As both the Couplet preceding, and following this, are in Rhyme, I am very apt to suspect, the Rhyme is dismounted here by an accidental Corruption; and therefore have ventur’d to replace Wave in the Room of Foam,

Poeta

[ocr errors]

Poet. Sir, having often of your bounty tasted,
Hearing you were retir'd, your friends fal'n off,
Whose thankless natures, (oh abhorred spirits ! )
Not all the whips of heav'n are large enough
What ! to you!
Whose star-like nobleness gave life and influence
To their whole being ! I am rapt, and cannot
Cover the monstrous bulķ of this ingratitude
With any fize of words.

Tim. Let it go naked, men may fee't the better: (30)
You that are honest, by being what you are,
Make them beft seen and known.

Pain. He, and my self,
Have travell'd in the great shower of your gifts,
And sweetly felt it.

Tim, Ay, you're honeft men.
Pain. We're hither come to offer you our service.

Tim. Most honest men ! why, how shall I requite you!
Can you eat roots, and drink cold water ? no.
Both. What we can do, we'll do, to do

you

service. Tim. Y' are honeft men ; you've heard, that I have

gold ; I'm sure, you have; speak truth, y' are honest men.

Pain. so it is said, my noble lord, but therefore Came not my friend, nor 1.

Tim. Good honest man ; thou draw't a counterfeit Best in all Athens ; thou’rt, indeed, the best Thou counterfeit'st most lively.

(30) Let it go, naked Men may feet the-better-;] Thus has Thiş Passage been stupidly pointed thro' all the Editions, as if naked Men could see better than Men in their Cloaths. I, think verily, if there were any Room to credit the Experiment, such Editors ought to go naked for the Improvement of their Eye-lights. But, perhaps, they have as little Faith as Judgement in their own Readings. The Poet, in the preceding Speech baranguing on the Ingratitude of Timon's falseFriends, fays, he cannos, cover the Monstrousness of iç with. any, Size of Words; to which Timon, as I have re&ified the Pointing, very aptly replies; Let it go naked Men may. See't the better,

pain. So, fo, my lord.

Tim. E'en fo, Sir, as I say - And for thy fiction,
Why, thy verse swells with stuff so fine and smooth,
That thou art even natural in thine art.
But for all this, my honeft-natur'd friends,
I must needs say, you have a little fault ;
Marry, not monstrous in you; neither wish I,
You take much pains to mend.

Both. Beseech your Honour
To make it known to us.

Tim. You'll take it ill.
Both. Most thankfully, my lord.
Tim. Will you, indeed?
Both. Doubt it not, worthy lord.

Tim. There's ne'er a one of you but trusts a knave,
That mightily deceives you.

Both. Do we, my lord ?

Tim. Ay, and you hear him cogg, see him diffemble,
Know his gross Patchery, love him, and feed him ;
Keep in your bofom, yet remain assurd,
That he's a made-up villain.

Pain. I know none such, my lord.
Poet. Nor I.

Tim. Look you, I love you well, I'll give you gold,
Rid me these villains from your companies ;
Hang them, or ftab them, drown them in a draught,
Confound them by fome course, and come to me,
l'll give you gold enough.

Botb. Name them, my lord, let's know them.
Tim. You that way, and you this ; but two in

company :
Each man apart, all single and alone,
Yet an arch villain keeps him company.
If where thou art, two villains shall not be,

[To the Painter, Come not near him. If thou wouldft not refide

[To the Poet.
But where one villain is, then him abandon.
Hence, pack, there's gold; ye came for gold, ye llaves ;
You have work for me; there's your payment, hence!

You

[ocr errors]
« ZurückWeiter »