The mounds into falt tears. The Earth's a thief, fill the more confirmed, because Mr Warburton, whọ did not know I had touched the place, fent me up the very fame correction. Of the fea thus encroaching upon the land, our Author has made mention more than once in his works. See 2 Henry IV. -fee the revolution of the times Make mountains level; and the continent,, Weary of folid firmnefs, melt af lf=" Into the fea. And again in a poem of his called Injurious Time:: Advantage on the kingdom of the fore, And in a play afcribed to him, called Pericles Prince of Tyre, Act 4. Thetis, being proud, fwallowed fome part o' th' earth. It may not be amils to obferve, that in all the editions of this play, except one old Quarto printed in 1609, the name of Thetis is loft, and nonfenfically corrupted into these two words: That is, being proud, &c. (35) -by a compofure fiol'n From general excrement :] have restored from the old editions, compofture; and there is no doubt but that was our Author's word here. For he is fpeaking of that artificial dung, called compoft. So Hamlet, Act 3. And do not spread the compot on the weeds, 1 Thief. 'Tis in the malice of mankind that he thus advises ́us, not to have us thrive in our myftery. 2 Thief. I'll believe him as an enemy, and give o'er my trade. 1 Thief. Let us firft fee peace in Athens. (36) 2 Thief. There is no time fo miferable but a man may be true. [Exeunt. A CT V. SCENE, the Woods, and Timon's Cave. Enter FLAVIUS. FLAVIUS. OH, ye gods! Is yon defpifed and ruinous man my Lord? Full of decay and failing! oh, monument And wonder of good deeds, evilly bestowed! What change of honour defp'rate want has made! What viler thing upon the earth, than friends. Who can bring nobleit minds to bafeft ends! How rarely does it meet with this time's guife, When man was wifh'd to love his enemies!' Grant I may ever love, and rather woo Thofe that would mifchief me, than thofe that do! H'as caught me in his eye, I will prefent My honeft grief to him, and, as my Lord, Still ferve him with my life. My deareft master! (36) 1 Thief. Let us for fee peace in Athens, &c.] This and the concluding little fpeech have in all the editions been placed to one speaker: but, as Mr Warburton very justly obferved to me, 'tis evident the latter words ought to be put in the mouth of the firft thief, who is for repenting, and leaving off his trade. TIMON Comes s' forward from his Cave. Tim. Away! what art thou? ན Flav. Have you forgot me, Sir? Tim. Why dost ask that? I have forgot all men. Then if thou granteft that thou art a man, I have forgot thee. Flav. An honeft fervant, Tim. Then I know thee not: I ne'er had honeft man about me, all I kept were knaves, to ferve in meat to villains. Ne'er did poor fteward wear a truer grief Because thou art a woman, and disclaimest Flav. I beg of you to know me, good my Lord, T'accept my grief, and, whilft this poor wealth lafts, To entertain me as your steward still. Tim. Had I a steward So true, fo juft, and now fo comfortable? Forgive my gen'ral and exceptlefs rafhness, Methinks thou art more honest now than wife; Thou mightest have fooner got another service: A ufuring kindnefs, as rich men deal gifts, Flav. No, my most worthy master, (in whose breast Care of your food and living; and, believe it, Either in hope, or prefent, I'd exchange For this one wish, that you had power and wealth To requite me by making rich yourself. Tim. Look thee, 'tis fo; thou fingly honeft man, Here, take; the gods out of my misery Have fent thee treasure. Go, live rich and happy: Flav. O, let me ftay, and comfort you, my mafter. Tim. If thou hateft curfes, Stay not, but fly whilft thou art blefs'd and free; Ne'er fee thou man, and let me ne'er fee thee. [Exeunt feverally. VOL. X. H 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 rumour hold for true, that he's fo full of gold? Pain. Certain. Alcibiades reports it: Phrynia and Timandra had gold of him: he likewife enriched poor ftraggling foldiers with great quantity. 'Tis faid he gave his fteward a mighty fum. Poet. Then this breaking of his has been but a trial for his friends. Pain. Nothing elfe: you fhall fee him a palm in Athens again, and flourish with the higheft. Therefore 'tis not amifs we tender our loves to him in this supposed distrefs of his : it will fhew honeftly in us, and is very likely to load our purposes with what they travel for, if it be a true and just report that goes of his having. Poet. What have you now to prefent unto him? Pain. Nothing at this time but my vifitation; only I will promife him an excellent piece. Poet. I muft ferve him fo too; tell him of an indent that's coming toward him. Pain. Good as the beft. Promifing 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 fimpler 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 TIMON from his Cave, unseen. Tim. Excellent workman! thou canst not paint a man fo bad as thyself. |