Of grave and austere quality, tender down To Apemantus, that few things loves better Pain: I saw them speak together. Poet. Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill Feign'd Fortune to be throned: the base o' the mount Is rank'd with all deserts, all kind of natures, 70 Whose present grace to present slaves and serv ants Translates his rivals. Pain. 'Tis conceived to scope. This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks, 58. "glass-faced"; one who shows by reflection the looks of nis patron. The Poet was mistaken in the character of Apemantus; but seeing that he paid frequent visits to Timon, he naturally concluded that he was equally courteous with his other guests.-H. N. H. 67. "propagate their states"; that is, to improve or advance their conditions.-H. N. H. With one man beckon'd from the rest below, Poet. Nay, sir, but hear me on. Make sacred even his stirrup, and through him Pain. Aye, marry, what of these? Poet. When Fortune in her shift and change of mood Spurns down her late beloved, all his dependants Not one accompanying his declining foot. 90 A thousand moral paintings I can show, More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well 82-83. "through him drink the free air"; to "drink the air," like the haustos ætherios of Virgil, is merely a poetic phrase for draw the air, or breathe. To "drink the free air," therefore, through another, is to breathe freely at his will only, to depend on him for the privilege of life.-H. N. H. 87. “slip”; Ff, “sit”; Delius conj. “sink.”—I. G. Trumpets sound. Enter Lord Timon, addressing himself courteously to every suitor; a Messenger from Ventidius talking with him; Lucilius and other servants following. Tim. Imprison'd is he, say you? Mess. Aye, my good lord: five talents is his debt; His means most short, his creditors most strait: Your honorable letter he desires To those have shut him up; which failing, Tim. Noble Ventidius! Well, I am not of that feather to shake off 100 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. Tim. Commend me to him: I will send his ransom; And, being enfranchised, bid him come to me: "Tis not enough to help the feeble up, But to support him after. Fare you well. Mess. All happiness to your honor! Enter an old Athenian. Old Ath. Lord Timon, hear me speak. Tim. [Exit. Freely, good father. 110 Old Ath. Thou hast a servant named 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! 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 Tim. Well, what further? 120 Tim. The man is honest. 130 His honesty rewards him in itself; It must not bear my daughter. Tim. Old Ath. She is young and apt: Does she love him? Our own precedent passions do instruct us Tim. [To Lucilius] Love you the maid? Luc. Aye, my good lord; and she accepts of it. 128. The line is supposed by some to be corrupt, and many emendations have been proposed, but Coleridge's interpretation commends itself:-"The meaning of the first line the poet himself explains, or rather unfolds, in the second. "The man is honest!'-True; and for that very cause, and with no additional or extrinsic motive, he will be so. No man can be justly called honest, who is not so for honesty's sake, itself including its reward."-I. G. 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, Tim. 140 How shall she be endow'd, If she be mated with an equal husband? Old Ath. Three talents on the present; in future, all. Tim. This gentleman of mine hath served me long: Old Ath. Most noble lord, Pawn me to this your honor, she is his. That state or fortune fall into my keeping, 150 [Exeunt Lucilius and Old Athenian. Poet. Vouchsafe my labor, and long live your lord ship! 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. Tim. Painting is welcome. |