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And by and by my master drew on him;
And then I ran away to call the watch.

Prince. This letter doth make good the friar's words,
Their course of love, the tidings of her death :
And here he writes that he did buy a poison
Of a poor 'pothecary, and therewithal
Came to this vault to die and lie with Juliet..
Where be these enemies? Capulet! Montague!
See, what a scourge is laid upon your hate,
That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love!
And I, for winking at your discords too,
Have lost a brace of kinsmen: all are punish'd.

Cap. O brother Montague, give me thy hand:
This is my daughter's jointure, for no more

Can I demand.

Mon.

But I can give thee more:

For I will raise her statue in pure gold;
That whiles Verona by that name is known,
There shall no figure at such rate be set
As that of true and faithful Juliet.
Cap. As rich shall Romeo's by his lady's lie;
Poor sacrifices of our enmity!

Prince. A glooming peace this morning with it brings;

The sun for sorrow will not show his head:
Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things;
Some shall be pardon'd and some punished:

For never was a story of more woe
Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.

[Exeunt.

[blocks in formation]

Cupid and Amazons in the mask.

mistresses to Alcibiades.

Other Lords, Senators, Officers, Banditti, and Attendants.
SCENE: Athens, and the neighbouring woods.

ACT I-SCENE I

Athens. A hall in Timon's house.

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

Poet. Good day, sir.

Pain.

at several doors.

I am glad you 're 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,
Magic of bounty! all these spirits thy power.
Hath conjured to attend. I know the merchant.

Pain. I know them both; th' other's a jeweller.
Mer. O, 'tis a worthy lord!

Jew.

Nay, that's most fix'd.

Mer. A most incomparable man, breathed, 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 that-

Poet. [Reciting to himself] 'When we for recompense have

praised the vile,

It stains the glory in that happy verse

Which aptly sings the good.'

Mer. [Looking on the jewel] 'Tis a good form.

Jew. And rich: here is a water, look ye.

Pain. You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedication

To the great lord.

Poet.

A thing slipp'd idly from me.

Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes
From whence 'tis nourish'd: 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. 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 will say of it,

It tutors nature: artificial strife

Lives in these touches, livelier than life.

Enter certain Senators, and pass over.

Pain. How this lord is follow'd!

Poet. The senators of Athens: happy man!

Pain. Look, moe!

Poet. You see this confluence, this great flood of visitors.
I have, in this rough work, shaped out a man,
Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug
With amplest entertainment: my free drift
Halts not particularly, but moves itself
In a wide sea of wax: no levell'd malice
Infects one comma in the course I hold;
But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on,
Leaving no tract behind.

Pain. How shall I understand you ?
Poet.

I will unbolt to you.

You see how all conditions, how all minds,
As well of glib and slippery creatures as
Of grave and austere quality, tender down
Their services to Lord Timon: his large fortune,
Upon his good and gracious nature hanging,
Subdues and properties to his love and tendance
All sorts of hearts; yea, from the glass-faced flatterer
To Apemantus, that few things loves better
Than to abhor himself: even he drops down

The knee before him, and returns in peace
Most rich in Timon's nod.

Pain.

I saw them speak together.
Poet. Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill
Feign'd Fortune to be throned: the base o' the mount
Is rank'd with all deserts, all kind of natures,
That labour on the bosom of this sphere
To propagate their states: amongst them all,
Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady fix'd,
One do I personate of Lord Timon's frame,
Whom Fortune with her ivory hand wafts to her;
Whose present grace to present slaves and servants
Translates his rivals.

Pain.

'Tis conceived to scope.
This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks,
With one man beckon'd from the rest below,
Bowing his head against the steepy mount
To climb his happiness, would be well express'd
In our condition.

Poet.

Nay, sir, but hear me on.

All those which were his fellows but of late,
Some better than his value, on the moment
Follow his strides, his lobbies fill with tendance,
Rain sacrificial whisperings in his ear,

Make sacred even his stirrup, and through him
Drink the free air.

Pain.

Ay, marry, what of these?

Poet. When Fortune in her shift and change of mood
Spurns down her late beloved, all his dependants
Which labour'd after him to the mountain's top
Even on their knees and hands, let him slip down,
Not one accompanying his declining foot.

Pain. 'Tis common :

A thousand moral paintings I can show,

That shall demonstrate these quick blows of Fortune's
More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well

To show Lord Timon that mean eyes have seen

The foot above the head.

Trumpets sound. Enter Lord Timon, addressing himself courteously to every suitor; a Messenger from Ventidius talking with him; Lucilius and other servants following. Imprison'd is he, say you ?

Tim.

Mess. Ay, my good lord: five talents is his debt;
His means most short, his creditors most strait :
Your honourable letter he desires

To those have shut him up; which failing,
Periods his comfort.

Tim.

Noble Ventidius! Well,

I am not of that feather to shake off

My friend when he must need me.

I do know him

A gentleman that well deserves a help :

Which he shall have: I'll pay the debt and free him.

Mess. Your lordship ever binds him.

Tim. Commend me to him: I will send his ransom;
And, being enfranchised, bid him come to me:

"Tis not enough to help the feeble up,
But to support him after. Fare you well.

Mess. All happiness to your honour!

Enter an old Athenian.

Old Ath. Lord Timon, hear me speak.
Tim.

[Exit.

Freely, good father.

Old Ath. Thou hast a servant named Lucilius.

Tim. I have so what of him?

Old Ath. Most noble Timon, call the man before thee.

Tim. Attends he here, or no? Lucilius!

Luc. Here, at your lordship's service.

Old Ath. This fellow here, Lord Timon, this thy creature,

By night frequents my house. I am a man

Than from my first have been inclined to thrift,
And my estate deserves an heir more raised

Than one which holds a trencher.

Tim.

Well, what further ?

Old Ath. One only daughter have I, no kin else,
On whom I may confer what I have got:
The maid is fair, o' the youngest for a bride,
And I have bred her at my dearest cost
In qualities of the best. This man of thine
Attempts her love: I prithee, noble lord,
Join with me to forbid him her resort;

Myself have spoke in vain.

Tim.

The man is honest

Old Ath. Therefore he will be, Timon:
His honesty rewards him in itself;

It must not bear my daughter.
Tim.

Old Ath. She is young and apt:

Does she love him?

Our own precedent passions do instruct us

What levity 's in youth.

Tim. [To Lucilius]

Love you the maid?

Luc. Ay, my good lord; and she accepts of it.

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