For any benefit that points to me Tim. Look thee, 'tis fo; thou fingly honeft man, Have fent thee treafure. Go, live rich and happy: But let the famifht flesh flide from the bone, Let prisons swallow 'em, And fo farewel, and thrive. Fla. O, let me ftay, and comfort you, my Master. Stay not, but fly, whilst thou art bleft and free; Enter Poet and Painter. [Exeunt feverally. 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's he's fo full of gold? Pain. Certain. Alcibiades reports it: Phrynia and Timandra had gold of him: he likewife enrich'd poor ftragling foldiers with great quantity. 'Tis faid, he gave his fteward a mighty fum. Poet. Then this breaking of his has been but a tryal 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 fuppos'd distress 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 just and true 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 promise him an excellent piece. Poet. I muft ferve him fo too; tell him of an interst 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 promife, is moft courtly, and fashionable; performance is a kind of will or teftament, which argues a great ficknefs in his judgment that makes it. Re-enter Timon from his cave, unfeen. Tim. Excellent workman! thou canst not paint a man so bad as thy felf. Poet. I am thinking, what I fhall fay I have provided for him: it must be a perfonating of himfelf; a fatyr against the softness of profperity, with a discovery of the infinite flatteries that follow youth and opulency.. Tim. Muft thou needs ftand for a villain in thine own work? wilt thou whip thine own faults in other men? do fo, I have gold for thee. Poet. Nay, let's seek him. Then do we fin against our own eftate, When we may Profit meet, and come too late. Pain. True: Poet. While the day ferves, before black-corner'd night, (35) Find what thou want'ft, 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 bafer temples, than where Swine do feed! 'Tis thou that rigg'ft the bark, and plow'ft the Wave, (36) Settleft admired rev'rence in a slave; Το (35) While the day ferves, &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 afcribe it to him. (36) 'Tis thou that rigg'ft the Bark, and plowft the Foam, Setileft admired Rev'rence in a Slave ;] As both the Couplet preceding, and To thee be Worship, and thy faints 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 fee two honeft men? Whose star-like nobleness gave life and influence Tim. Let it go naked, men may fee't the better: (37) You that are honeft, by being what you are, Make them best seen and known. Pain. He, and my self, Have travell❜d in the great fhower of your gifts, Tim. Ay, you're honest men. Pain. We're hither come to offer you our service. Tim. Most honeft men! why, how fhall I requite you? Can you eat roots, and drink cold water? no. and following this, are in Rhyme, I am very apt to fufpect, the Rhyme is difmounted here by an accidental Corruption; and therefore have ventur'd to replace Wave in the Room of Foam, (37) Let it go, naked Men may fee't the better ;] Thus has this Paffage been stupidly pointed thro' all the Editions, as if naked Men could fee better than Men in their Cloaths. I think verily, if there were any Room to credit the Experiment, fuch Editors ought to go naked for the Improvement of their Eye-fights. But, perhaps, they have as little Faith as Judgment in their own Readings. The Poet, in the preceeding Speech haranguing on the Ingratitude of Timon's falfe Friends, fays, he cannot cover the Monftroufness of it with any Size of Words; to which Timon, as I have rectified the Pointing, very aptly replies; Let it Both. What we can do, we'll do, to do you fervice. Tim. Good honest man; thou draw'st a counterfeit Pain. So, fo, my lord. Tim. E'en fo, Sir, as I fay-And for thy fiction, But for all this, my honeft-natur'd friends, Both. Befeech 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, fee him diffemble, Know his grofs Patchery, love him, and feed him; Keep in your bofom, yet remain affur'd, That he's a made-up villain. Pain. I know none fuch, my lord. Poet. Nor I. Tim. Look you, I love you well, I'll give you gold, Rid me there villains from your companies; Hang them, or ftab them, drown them in a draught, I'll give you gold enough. Bob. Name them, my lord, let's know them. Each man apart, all fingle and alone, Yet an arch villain keeps him company, -but two in com [pany: If 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. Out, rafcal dogs! [Beating and driving 'em out. Enter Flavius and two Senators. Fla. It is in vain that you would speak with Timon: That nothing but himself, which looks like man, 1 Sen. Bring us to his Cave. It is our part and promife to th' Athenians 2 Sen. At all times alike Men are not still the fame; 'twas time and griefs The former man may make him; bring us to him, Fla. Here is his Cave: Peace and Content be here, lord Timon! Timon! Enter Timon out of his Cave: Tim. Thou Sun, that comfort'ft, burn! Speak, and be hang'd; For each true word a blifter, and each false Be cauterizing to the root o'th' tongue, Confuming it with speaking. 1 Sen. Worthy Timon, Tim. Of none but fuch as you, and you of Timon. 2 Sen. The fenators of Athens greet thee, Timon. |