That labour on the bofom of this sphere 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, To climb his happinefs, would be well exprest Poet. Nay, but hear me on: All those which were his fellows but of late, Rain facrificial whifp'rings in his ear; 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 shall demonftrate these quick blows of fortune (3) 'Tis conceiv'd, to fcope 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, TXT Tuxes, rectà ad Scopum tendis: and Cicero has thus exprefs'd on the like Occafion, Signum oculis deftinatum feris. This Sense our Author, in his Henry 8th, expreffes; I think, you've hit the Mark. And in his Julius Cæfar, at the Conclufion of the first A&t ; More More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well Trumpets found. Enter Timon, addreffing himself courteously to every fuitor. Tim. Imprifon'd is he, fay you? [To a Meffenger. To those have shut him up, which failing to him. Tim. Noble Ventidius! well I am not of that feather to shake off Which he shall have. I'll pay the debt, and free him. Tim. Commend me to him, I will fend his ransom; And, being enfranchiz'd, bid him come to me; 'Tis not enough to help the feeble up, But to fupport him after. Fare you well. Enter an old Athenian, Old Ath. Lord Timon, hear me speak. Tim. Freely, good father. Old Ath. Thou haft a fervant nam'd Lucilius. Tim. I have fo: what of him? [Exit. Old Ath. Moft noble Timon, call the man before thee. Tim. Attends he here or no? Lucilius! Enter Lucilius. Luc. Here, at your lordship's fervice. Old Ath. This fellow here, lord Timon, this thy creature By night frequents my houfe. I am a man That from my firft have been inclin'd to thrift, And my eftate deferves an heir more rais'd, Than one which holds a trencher. Tim. Well: what further? Old Ath. One only daughter have I, no kin else, Tim. The man is honeft. Old Ath. Therefore he will be, Timon. (4) His honefty rewards him in it felf, It must not bear my daughter. Tim. Does fhe love him? Old Ath. She is young, and apt: Our own precedent paffions do inftruct us, Tim. Love you the maid? Luc. Ay, my good lord, and fhe accepts of it. I call the Gods to witnefs, I will chufe Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world, Tim. How fhall the be endowed, If fhe be mated with an equal husband? Old Ath. Three talents on the prefent, in future all. For 'tis a bond in men. Give him thy daughter: And make him weigh with her. Old Ath. Moft noble lord, Pawn me to this your honour, fhe is his. Tim. My hand to thee, mine honour on my promise. (4) Therefore he will be, Timon.] The Thought is closely exprefs'd, and obfcure: but this feems the Meaning. "If the Man be honest, my Lord, for that Reason he will be fo in this; and not endeavour "at the Injustice of gaining my Daughter without my Confent." 66 Mr. Warburton. That state, or fortune, fall into my keeping, Which is not ow'd to you. [Exeunt Luc. and old Athenian. Tim. Painting is welcome. The Painting is almoft the natural man : Pain. The Gods preserve ye ! Tim. Well fare you, gentleman; Give me your hand, We must needs dine together: Sir, your Jewel Hath fuffer'd under praise. Jew. What, my lord? difpraife? Tim. A meer fatiety of commendations. Jew. My lord, 'tis rated As thofe, which fell, would give: but you well know, Are by their mafters priz'd; Believe't, dear lord, Tim. Well mock'd. Mer. No, my good lord, he fpeaks the common tongue, Which all men fpeak with him. Tim. Look, who comes here. Will you be chid? Enter Apemantus. Few. We'll bear it with your lordship. Mer. He'll fpare none. Tim. Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus! Apem. 'Till I be gentle, ftay for thy good morrow; When thou art Timon's dog, and thefe knaves honest. Tim. Why doft thou call them knaves, thou know'ft Apem. Are they not Athenians? Tim. Yes. Apem. Then I repent not. Jew. You know me, Apemantus. [them not? Apem. Thou know'ft I do, I call'd thee by thy name. Tim. Thou art proud, Apemantus. Apem. Of nothing fo much, as that I am not like Timon. Apem. To knock out an honeft Athenian's brains. Apem. Right, if doing nothing be death by the law. Tim. Wrought he not well, that painted it? Apem. He wrought better, that made the Painter and yet he's but a filthy piece of work. Pain. Y'are a dog. Apem. Thy mother's of my generation: what's fhe, if I be a dog? Tim. Wilt dine with me, Apemantus? Apem. No, I eat not lords. Tim. If thou fhould'ft, thou'dft anger ladies. Apem. O, they eat lords; fo they come by great bellies. Tim. That's a lafcivious apprehenfion. Apem. So, thou apprehend'ft it. Take it for thy labour. Tm. What doft thou think 'tis worth? Apem. Thou lieft. Poet. Art thou not one? Apem. Yes. Poet. Then I lie not. How now, Poet? Apem. Then thou lieft: look in thy laft work, where thou haft feign'd him a worthy fellow. Pcet. |