TIMON OF ATHENS.

VOL. VIII.

B

Flaminius,

Lucilius,

Servilius,

Caphis,
Philotus,

Titus,

Lucius,

Hortensius,

}

Timon's scrvants.

servants to Timon's creditors.

Two Servants of Varro, and the Servant of Isidore; two of

TIMON OF ATHENS.

ACT 1.

SCENE I. Athens. A hall in Timon's house.

Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and others,

at several doors.

Poet. Good day, sir.
Pain.

I am glad you are well.

Poet. I have not seen you long; How goes the

world?

Pain. It wears, sir, as it grows.

Poet.

Ay, that's well known :

But what particular rarity? what strange,
Which manifold record not matches? See,
Magick of bounty! all these spirits thy power
Hath conjur'd to attend. I know the merchant.
Pain. I know them both : t'other's a jeweller.

Mer. O, 'tis a worthy lord !

Jew.

Nay, that's most fix'd.

Mer. A most incomparable man; breath'd*, as

it were, To an untirable and continuate † goodness : He passes ‡.

Jew.

I have a jewel here.

Mer. O, pray, let's see't: For the lord Timon,

sir?

Jew. If he will touch the estimate: But, for Poet. When we for recompense have prais'd the vile, It stains the glory in that happy verse

Which aptly sings the good.

Mer.

'Tis a good form. [Looking at the jewel.

Jew. And rich: here is a water, look you.
Pain. You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedi-

cation

To the great lord.
Poet.

A thing slipp'd idly from me.

Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes
From whence 'tis nourished

:

The fire i'the flint

Shows not, till it be struck; our gentle flame
Provokes itself, and, like the current, flies
Each bound it chafes. What have you there ?

Pain. A picture, sir.-And when comes your book

forth?

Poet. Upon the heels of my presentment*, sir.

Let's see your piece.
Pain.

'Tis a good piece.

Poet. So'tis: this comes off well and excellent. Pain. Indifferent.

Poet.

Admirable: How this grace

Speaks his own standing! what a mental power This eye shoots forth! how big imagination Moves in this lip! to the dumbness of the gesture One might interpret.

Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life.

Here is a touch; Is't good?

Poet.

I'll say of it,

It tutors nature: artificial strifet

Lives in these touches, livelier than life.

Enter certain Senators, and pass over.

Pain. How this lord's follow'd!

Poet. The senators of Athens: -Happy men!
Pain. Look, more!