Plays and Poems

Poet. Good day, sir.
Pain.
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 conjur'd 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, breath'd, as it were,

To an untirable and continuate goodness:

He passes.

Jew. I have a jewel here

Jew. If he will touch the estimate: but, for that

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'll say of it,

Mer. O pray, let's see 't: for the Lord Timon, It tutors nature: artificial strife
sir?
Lives in these touches, livelier than life.
Enter certain Senators, who pass over the stage.
Pain. How this lord is followed!
Poet. The senators of Athens: happy man!
Pain. Look, more!

Poet. When we for recompense have prais'd the
vile.

It stains the glory in that happy verse
Which aptly sings the good.

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

Poet. You see this confluence, this great flood of visitors.

Pain. How shall I understand you?
Port.
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-fac'd
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 thron'd: the base o' the

Pain. ''Tis conceiv'd 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. so
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 belov'd, 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.

Tim.
Imprison'd is he, say you?
Mess. Ay, my good lord: five talents is his
debt,

Old Ath. Lord Timon, hear me speak.
Tim.
Freely, good father.
Old Ath. Thou hast a servant nam'd 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,

129

By night frequents my house. I am a man That from my first have been inclin'd to thrift, And my estate deserves an heir more rais'd 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.

139

The man is honest. Old Ath. Therefore he will be, Timon: His honesty rewards him in itself; It must not bear my daughter.

Tim.

Does she love him!

Go not away. What have you there, my friend? Pain. A piece of painting, which I do beseech Your lordship to accept.

Tim.

160

Painting is welcome.
The painting is almost the natural man;
For since dishonour traffics with man's nature,
He is but outside: these pencill'd figures are
Even such as they give out. I like your work;
And you shall find I like it: wait attendance
Till you hear further from me.

Pain.
The gods preserve you!
Tim. Well fare you, gentleman: give me your
hand;

We must needs dine together. Sir, your jewel
Hath suffer'd under praise.

Jew. What, my lord! dispraise? Tim. A mere satiety of commendations. If I should pay you for 't as 'tis extoll'd, It would unclew me quite. Jew.

Tim. An thou should'st, thou'dst anger ladies. Apem. O! they eat lords; so they come by great bellies.

Tim. That's a lascivious apprehension. Apem. So thou apprehendest it, take it for thy labour.

Tim. How dost thou like this jewel, Apemantus?

Apem. Not so well as plain-dealing, which will not cost a man a doit.

220

170

Apem. Yes.

Poet. Then I lie not.

My lord, 'tis rated

As those which sell would give: but you well know,

Things of like value, differing in the owners, Are prized by their masters. Believe't, dear lord,

You mend the jewel by the wearing it.

Tim. Well mock'd.

Apem. Then thou liest: look in thy last work, where thou hast feigned him a worthy fellow. Poet. That's not feigned; he is so.

Apem. Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay thee for thy labour: he that loves to be flattered is worthy o' the flatterer. Heavens,

Mer. No, my good lord; he speaks the that I were a lord! common tongue,

Which all men speak with him.

Tim. What would'st do then, Apemantus? Apem. E'en as Apemantus does now; hate a

Tim. Look, who comes here. Will you be lord with my heart. chid?

Enter APEMANTUS.

Jew. We'll bear, with your lordship.

Mer.
He'll spare none. 180
Tim. Good morrow to thee, gentle Ape-
mantus !

Apem. Till I be gentle, stay thou for thy good

morrow;

When thou art Timon's dog, and these knaves honest.

Tim. Why dost thou call them knaves? thou

know'st them not.

Apem. Are they not Athenians?

Tim. Yes.

Apem. Then I repent not.

Jew. You know me, Apemantus?

Apem. Thou know'st I do; I call'd thee by

thy name.

Apem. Of nothing so much as that I am not Till I have thank'd you; and, when dinner's like Timon.

Tim. Whither art going?

Apem. To knock out an honest Athenian's brains.

Tim. That's a deed thou 'lt die for.

done,

Show me this piece. I am joyful of your sights.

Enter ALCIBIADES, with his Company.

Apem. Right, if doing nothing be death by Most welcome, sir! the law.

And all this courtesy! The strain of man's bred out

Into baboon and monkey.

Honest Ventidius; you mistake my love;

Alcib. Sir, you have sav'd my longing, and II gave it freely ever; and there's none
feed
Can truly say he gives, if he receives:

Most hungerly on your sight.
Tim.
Right welcome, sir!
Ere we depart, we'll share a bounteous time
In different pleasures. Pray you, let us in.
Exeunt all but APEMANTUS.

Second Lord. Thou art going to Lord Timon's feast?

Apem. Ay; to see meat fill knaves and wine heat fools.

Second Lord. Fare thee well, fare thee well. Apem. Thou art a fool to bid me farewell twice.

Second Lord. Why, Apemantus?

If our betters play at that game, we must not
dare

To imitate them; faults that are rich are fair.
Ven. A noble spirit!

They all stand ceremoniously looking on TIMON. Tim. Nay, my lords, ceremony was but devis'd at first

To set a gloss on faint deeds, hollow welcomes,
Recanting goodness, sorry ere 'tis shown;

But where there is true friendship, there needs

none.

Pray, sit; more welcome are ye to my fortunes
Than my fortunes to me.
They sit.

First Lord. My lord, we always have con-
fess'd it.

Apem. Ho, ho! confess'd it; hang'd it, have

you not?

Tim. O! Apemantus, you are welcome.
Арет.

You shall not make me welcome :

Apem. Should'st have kept one to thyself, for I come to have thee thrust me out of doors.

No:

Tim. Fie! thou'rt a churl; ye 've got a humour
there

Does not become a man; 'tis much to blame.
They say, my lords, Ira furor brevis est,
But yond man is ever angry.

Go, let him have a table by himself,
For he does neither affect company,
Nor is he fit for it, indeed.

Apem. Let me stay at thine apperil, Timon:
I come to observe; I give thee warning on 't.
Tim. I take no heed of thee; thou 'rt ar
Athenian; therefore welcome. I myself would
have no power; prithee, let my meat make thee
silent.

Apem. I scorn thy meat; 'twould choke me. for I should

Ne'er flatter thee. O you gods! what a number
Of men eat Timon, and he sees 'em not.
It grieves me to see so many dip their meat
In one man's blood; and all the madness is,
He cheers them up too.

I wonder men dare trust themselves with men
Methinks they should invite them without
knives;

Good for their meat, and safer for their lives.
There's much example for 't; the fellow that
Sits next him now, parts bread with him, and
pledges

The breath of him in a divided draught,

the readiest man to kill him: it has been proved.

If I were a huge man, I should fear to drink at

meals,

Lest they should spy my wind-pipe's dangerous

notes:

It hath pleas'd the gods to remember my father's Great men should drink with harness on their

Apem. Flow this way! A brave fellow! he keeps his tides well. Those healths will make thee and thy state look ill, Timon.

Here's that which is too weak to be a sinner, 60
Honest water which ne'er left man i' the mire :
This and my food are equals, there's no odds.
Feasts are too proud to give thanks to the gods.
Immortal gods, I crave no pelf;
I pray for no man but myself :
Grant I may never prove so fond,
To trust man on his oath or bond;
Or a harlot for her weeping;
Or a dog that seems a-sleeping;
Or a keeper with my freedom;

Or my friends, if I should need 'em.
Amen. So fall to 't:

Rich men sin, and I eat root.

Eats and drinks. Much good dich thy good heart, Apemantus! Tim. Captain Alcibiades, your heart 's in the field now.

Alcib. My heart is ever at your service, my lord.

Tim. You had rather be at a breakfast of enemies than a dinner of friends.

Alcib. So they were bleeding-new, my lord, there's no meat like 'em : I could wish my best friend at such a feast.

Apem. Would all those flatterers were thine enemies then, that then thou might'st kill 'em and bid me to 'em.

First Lord. Might we but have that happiness, my lord, that you would once use our hearts, whereby we might express some part of our zeals, we should think ourselves for ever perfect. 90 Tim. O! no doubt, my good friends, but the gods themselves have provided that I shall have much help from you how had you been my friends else? why have you that charitable title from thousands, did not you chiefly belong to my heart? I have told more of you to myself than you can with modesty speak in your own behalf; and thus far I confirm you. O you gods! think I, what need we have any friends, if we should ne'er have need of 'em they were the

most needless creatures living should we ne'er have use for 'em, and would most resemble sweet instruments hung up in cases, that keep their sounds to themselves. Why, I have often wished myself poorer that I might come nearer to you. We are born to do benefits; and what better or properer can we call our own than the riches of our friends? O! what a precious comfort 'tis, to have so many, like brothers, commanding one another's fortunes. O joy! e'en made away ere 't can be born. Mine eyes cannot hold out water, methinks: to forget their faults, I drink to you.

Apem. Thou weepest to make them drink, Timon.

Second Lord. Joy had the like conception in

To gratulate thy plenteous bosom. Th' ear, Taste, touch, and smell, pleas'd from thy table rise;

They only now come but to feast thine eyes. Tim. They're welcome all; let 'em have kind admittance:

Music, make their welcome!

Exit CUPID.

First Lord. You see, my lord, how ample you 're belov'd.

Music. Re-enter CUPID, with a masque of Ladies as Amazons, with lutes in their hands, dancing and playing.

Apem. Hoy-day! what a sweep of vanity comes this way:

They dance! they are mad women.
Like madness is the glory of this life,
As this pomp shows to a little oil and root. 140
We make ourselves fools to disport ourselves;
And spend our flatteries to drink those men
Upon whose age we void it up again,
With poisonous spite and envy.
Who lives that 's not depraved or depraves?
Who dies that bears not one spurn to their
graves

Of their friends' gift?

I should fear those that dance before me now
Would one day stamp upon me: 't has been
done;
Men shut their doors against a setting sun. 150
The Lords rise from table, with much adoring of
TIMON; and to show their loves each singles out
an Amazon, and all dance, men with women, a
lofty strain or two to the hautboys, and cease.
Tim. You have done our pleasures much grace,
fair ladies,

Set a fair fashion on our entertainment,
Which was not half so beautiful and kind;
You have added worth unto 't and lustre,
And entertain'd me with mine own device;
I am to thank you for 't.

First Lady. My lord, you take us even at the

best.

Apem. Faith, for the worst is filthy; and would not hold taking, I doubt me.

160

Tim. Ladies, there is an idle banquet Attends you: please you to dispose yourselves. All Ladies. Most thankfully, my lord.

Exeunt CUPID and Ladies.

Tim. Flavius! Flav. My lord! Tim. The little casket bring me hither. Flav. Yes, my lord. Aside. More jewels yet! There is no crossing him in 's humour;

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