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. Flav. What do you ask of me, my Friend? Flav. If Mony were as certain as your waiting, 'Twere fure enough. Why then prefer'd you not your Sums and Bills, Believ't, my Lord and I have made an end, [Exit Flavius. Var. How! what does his cafhier'd worfhip mutter ? Tit. No matter what- he's poor, and that's revenge enough. Who can fpeak broader than he that has no House to put his Head in? Such may rail against great Buildings. Enter Servilius. Tit. Oh, here's Servilius; now we fhall have fome anfwer. Serv. If I might befeech you, Gentlemen, to repair fome other hour, I fhould derive much from't. For take't of my Soul, my Lord leans wondroufly to discontent: His comfortable temper has forfook him, he's much out of Health, and keeps his Chamber. I 3 Luc. Many do keep their Chambers, are not fick: Serv. 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 Houfe Be my retentive Enemy? My Goal? The Place which I have feafted, does it now, Tit. My Lord, here's my Bill. Var. And mine, my Lord. Cap. And ours, my Lord. Phi. All our Bills. Tim. Knock me down with 'em- -cleave me to the Girdle. Luc. Alas, my Lord. Tim. Cut out my Heart in Sums. Tit. Mine, fifty Talents. Tim. Tell out my Blood. Luc. Five thoufand Crowns, my Lord. Tim. Five thousand drops pays that, What yours? Var. My Lord. Cap. My Lord. and yours? Tim. Tear me, take me, and the Gods fall upon you. [Exit Timon. Hor. Faith, I perceive our Mafters throw their Caps at their Mony, these Debts may well be call'd defperate ones, for a mad Man owes 'em, may Enter Timon and Flavius. [Exeunt. Tim. They have e'en put my Breath from me, the Slaves. Creditors!Devils. Flav. My dear Lord. Tim. What if it should be fo-- Flav. My dear Lord. Tim. I'll have it foM Steward! Flav. Here, my Lord. Tim. So fitly!Go, bid all my Friends again, Lucius, Lucullus and Sempronius. All I'll once more Feaft the Rafcals. Flav. O my Lord! you only fpeak from your diftracted Soul; there's not fo much left as to furnish out a moderate Table. Tim. Be it not in thy Care: Go, I charge thee, invite them all, let in the tide Of Knaves once more: My Cook and I'll provide. [Exeunt. SCENE III. The City. Enter three Senators at one Door, Alcibiades meeting them with Attendants. 1 Sen. My Lord, you have my Voice to't, the Fault's bloody; 'Tis neceffary he should dye: Nothing emboldens Sin fo much as Mercy. 2 Sen. Moft true; the Law fhall bruife 'em. Alc. I am an humble Suitor to your Virtues, And with fuch fober and unnoted Paffion Τ 1 Sen. You undergo too ftrict a Paradox, Striving to make an ugly Deed look fair: Your Words have took fuch pains, as if they labour'd If Wrongs be Evils, and enforce us kill, 1 Sen. You cannot make grofs Sins look clear, To revenge is no Valour, but to bear. Alc. My Lords, then under favour, pardon me; Why do fond Men expofe themfelves to Battel, Such Valour in the bearing, what make we That stay at home, if bearing carry it; And the Afs, more Captain than the Lion? The Fellow Loaden with Irons, wifer than the Judge, If Wisdom be in fuffering. Oh my Lords, As you are Great, be pitifully Good: Who cannot condemn Rafhnefs in cold Blood? But who is Man, that is not Angry? 2 Sen. You breath in vain, Alc. In vain? His Service done at Lacedamon, and Bizantium, I Sen. What's that? Alc. Why, I fay my Lords, h'as done fair Service, That often drowns him, and takes his Valour Prifcner. Alc. Hard Fate! he might have dy'à in War. If by this Crime he owes the Law his Life, 1 Sen. We are for Law, he dyes, urge it no more, My Lords, I do befeech you know me. 2 Sen. How? Alc. Call me to your Remembrances. 3 Sen. What! Alc. I cannot think but your Age hath forgot me, 1 Sen. Do you dare our Anger? 'Tis in few Words, but fpacious in effect, We banish thee for ever. Alc. |