Timon, a noble Athenian. Lucius, Sempronius, } lords, and flatterers of Timon. Ventidius, one of Timon's false friends. Apemantus, a churlish philosopher. Two Servants of Varro, and the Servant of Isidore; two of Timon's creditors. Cupid, and Maskers. Three Strangers. Phrynia, } mistresses to Alcibiades. Other Lords, Senators, Officers, Soldiers, Thieves, and Attendants. Scene, Athens; and the Woods adjoining. ΤΙΜΟΝ OF ATHENS. ACT I. SCENE I. Athens. A hall in Timon's house. Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and others, at several doors. GOOD day, sir. Pain. Poet. I am glad you are well. Poet. I have not seen you long; How goes the world? Pain. It wears, sir, as it grows. 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, * Inured by constant practice. To an untirable and continuate* goodness: He passes t. 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 that 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. cation To the great lord. A thing slipp'd idly from me. Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes From whence 'tis nourished: The fire i'the flint 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? * For continual. 1 i. e. Exceeds, goes beyond common bounds. I'll say of it, Poet. It tutors nature: artificial strife* 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! Poet. You see this confluence, this great flood of visitors. I have, in this rough work, shap'd out a man, Pain. How shall I understand you? I'll unbolt to you. You see how all conditions, how all minds tererý, To Apemantus, that few things loves better Pain. I saw them speak together. * i. e. The contest of art with nature. + My design does not stop at any particular cha racter. ‡ Open, explain. tron. One who shows by reflection the looks of his pa. |