He does deny him (in respect of his)
What charitable men afford to beggars.
3 Stran. Religion groans at it.
I Stran. For mine own part,
I never tafted Timon in my life;
Nor any of his bounties came o'er me,
To mark me for his friend. Yet, I proteft,
For his right noble mind, illuftrious virtue,
And honourable carriage,

Had his neceffity made ufe of me,

I would have put my wealth into donation,
And the best half fhould have return'd to him,
So much I love his heart: but I perceive,
Men must learn now with pity to difpence,
For policy fits above confcience.

Enter a third Servant with Sempronius.

[Exeunt.

Sem. Muft he needs trouble me in't? 'bove all others?

He might have tried lord Lucius, or Lucullus,

And now Ventidius is wealthy too,

Whom he redeem'd from prifon : All these three
Owe their eftates unto him.

Ser. Oh, my lord,

They've all been touch'd, and all are found base metal; For they have all deny'd him.

Sem. How? deny'd him?

Ventidius and Lucullus both deny'd him?

And does he fend to me? three! hum

It fhews but little love or judgment in him.

Muft I be his laft refuge? his friends, like physicians, (19) Thriv'd, give him over? must I take the cure

bis Friends, like Phyficians

On

(19) Thriv'd, give him over?] I have reftor'd this old Reading, only amended the Pointing which was faulty. Mr. Pope, fufpecting the Phrafe, has Substituted Three in the room of thriv'd, and fo difarm'd the Poet's Satire. Phyficians thriv'd is no more than Phyficians grown rich: Only the Adjective Paffive of this Verb, indeed, is not fo common in Ufe; and yet it is a familiar Expreffion, to this day, to fay, Such a One is well thriven on his Trade. This very Sarçafm of our Author is made Ufe of by Webster a

Соде

On me? h'as much difgrac'd me in't; I'm angry.

He might have known my Place; I fee no fenfe for't,
But his occafions might have wooed me first:

For, in my confcience, I was the first man

That e'er received gift from him.
And does he think fo backwardly of me,
That I'll requite it laft? no:

So it may prove an argument of laughter

To th' reft, and 'mongft lords I be thought a fool:
I'd rather than the worth of thrice the fum,

H'ad sent to me firft, but for my mind's fake:
I'd fuch a courage to have done him good.
But now return,

And with their faint Reply this Answer join;

Who bates mine honour, fhall not know my coin. [Exit. Ser. Excellent! your lordship's a goodly villain. The devil knew not what he did, when he made man politick; he crofs'd himself by't; and I cannot think, but in the end the villanies of man will fet him clear. How fairly this lord ftrives to appear foul? takes virtuous copies to be wicked like those that under hot, ardent, zeal would fet whole Realms on fire. Of fuch a nature is his politick love.

This was my lord's best hope; now all are fled,
Save the Gods only. Now his friends are dead;
Doors, that were ne'er acquainted with their wards
Many a bounteous year, must be employ'd
Now to guard fure their mafter.

And this is all a liberal course allows;

Who cannot keep his wealth, muft keep his house.

[Exit.

Contemporary Poet in his Dutchefs of Malfy, the Cloathing only a little varied,

SCENE changes to Timon's Hall.

Enter Varro, Titus, Hortenfius, Lucius, and other fervants of Timon's creditors, who wait for bis coming out.

Var.

WELL met, good morrow, Titus and Horten

fius.

Tit. The like to you, kind Varro.

Hor. Lucius, why do we meet together?

Luc. I think, one business does command us all.

For mine is mony.

Tit. So is theirs and ours.

Enter Philotas.

Luc. And Sir Philotas's too.

Phi. Good day, at once.

Luc. Welcome, good brother. What d'you think the hour?

Phi. I wonder: he was wont to fhine at seven.

Luc. Ay, but the days are waxed fhorter with him: You must confider that a Prodigal's Course

Is like the fun's, but not like his recoverable, I fear:
'Tis deepest winter in lord Timon's purse;

That is, one may reach deep enough, and yet
Find little.

Phi. I am of your fear for that.

Tit. I'll fhew you how t' obferve a ftrange event:

Your lord fends now for mony.

Hor. True, he does.

Tit. And he wears jewels now of Timon's gift,

For which I wait for mony.

Hor. Against my heart.

Luc. How ftrange it shows,

Timon in this fhould pay more than he owes!

And e'en as if your lord fhould wear rich jewels,
And fend for mony

for 'em.

Hor. I'm weary of this charge, the Gods can witness : I know, my lord hath spent of Timon's wealth, Ingratitude now makes it worfe than stealth.

Var. Yes, mine's three thousand crowns: what's yours? Luc. Five thousand.

Var. 'Tis too much deep, and it should feem by th’sum, Your master's confidence was above mine;

Elfe, furely, his had equall'd.

Enter Flaminius.

Tit. One of lord Timon's men.

Luc. Flaminius! Sir, a word: pray, is my lord Ready to come forth?

Flam. No, indeed, he is not.

Tit. We attend his lordship; pray, fignifie fo much. Flam. I need not tell him that, he knows you are too

diligent.

Enter Flavius in a cloak, muffled.

Luc. Ha! is not that his Steward muffled fo? He goes away in a cloud: call him, call him. Tit. Do you hear, Sir→→→

Var. By your leave, Sir.

Fla. What do you ask of me, my friend?
Tit. We wait for certain mony here, Sir.
Fla. If mony were as certain as your waiting,
'Twere fure enough.

Why then preferr'd you not your fums and bills,
When your falfe mafters eat of my lord's meat?
Then they would fmile and fawn upon his debts,
And take down th' interest in their glutt'nous maws
You do your felves but wrong to stir me up,
Let me pafs quietly: -

Believe't, my lord and I have made an end,
I have no more to reckon, he to spend.
Luc. Ay, but this anfwer will not serve.

Fla. If 'twill not serve, 'tis not fo base as you;
For you ferve knaves.

[Exit.

Var. How! what does his cafhier'd worship mutter?

Tit. No matter, what, he's poor, and that's revenge enough. Who can fpeak broader than he that has no houfe to put his head in? Such may rail against great Buildings.

Tit. Oh, here's Servilius; now we shall have fome anfwer.

Ser. If I might befeech you, gentlemen, to repair fome other hour, I fhould derive much from it. For take it of my foul,

My lord leans wondrously to discontent:

His comfortable temper has forfook him,

He is much out of health, and keeps his chamber.
Luc. Many do keep their chambers, are not fick :
And if he be fo far beyond his health,

Methinks, he should the fooner pay his debts,
And make a clear way to the Gods.

Ser. Good Gods!

Tit. We cannot take this for an answer.

Flam. [within.] Servilius, help-my lord! my lord.

Enter Timon, in a rage.

Tim. What, are my doors oppos'd against my paffage? Have I been ever free, and muft my house.

Be my retentive enemy, my goal?

The place, which I have feafted, does it now,

Like all mankind, fhew me an iron heart?

Luc. Put in now, Titus.

Tit. My lord, here's my bill.

Luc. Here's mine.

Var. And mine, my lord.

Cap. And ours, my lord!

Phi. And our bills.

Tim. Knock me down with 'em

girdle.

Luc. Alas, my lord.

Tim. Cut out my heart in fums.

Tit. Mine, fifty talents.

cleave me to the