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Enter an old Athenian.

Old Ath. Lord Timon, hear me speak.
Tim. Freely, good father.

Old Ath. Thou haft a fervant named Lucilius.
Tim. I have fo: what of him?

Old Ath. Moft noble Timon, call the man before Tim. Attends he here or no? Lucilius! [thee. Enter LUCILIUS.

Luc. Here, at your Lordship's fervice.
Old Ath. This fellow here, Lord Timon, this
thy creature

By night frequents my houfe. I am a man
That from my first have been inclined to thrift,
And my eftate deferves an heir more raised
Than one which holds a trencher.

Tim. Well what further?

Old Ath. One only daughter have I, no kin elfe, On whom I may confer what I have got: The maid is fair, o' th' youngest for a bride, And I have bred her at my dearest cost, In qualities of the beft. This man of thine Attempts her love: I pray thee, noble Lord, Join with me to forbid him her refort; Myfelf have spoke in vain.

Tim. The man is honeft.

Old Ath. Therefore he will be, Timon. (4) His honefty rewards him in itself,

It must not bear my daughter.

Tim. Does the love him?

(4) Therefore he will be, Timon] The thought is closely expreffed, and obfcure; but this feems the meaning. If the Dan be honest, my Lord, for that reafon he will be fo in this, and not endeavour at the injuftice of gaining my daughter without my confent. Mr Warburton.

Old Ath. She is young, and apt :
Our own precedent paffions do instruct us
What levity's in youth.

Tim. Love you the maid?

Luc. Ay, my good Lord, and fhe accepts of it. Old Ath. If in her marriage my confent be mifI call the gods to witness, I will chuse Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world, And difpoffefs her all.

[fing,

Tim. How fhall the be endowed,

If the be mated with an equal husband?

Old Ath. Three talents on the present, in future` all.

Tim. This gentleman of mine hath served me
Jong;

To build his fortune I will ftrain a little;
For 'tis a bond in men. Give him thy daughter:
What you beftow, in him I'll counterpoife,

And make him weigh with her.

Old Ath. Moft noble Lord,

Pawn me to this your honour, fhe is his.

Tim. My hand to thee, mine honour on my pro

mife.

Luc. Hurably I thank your Lordship: never may That ftate, or fortune, fall into my keeping, Which is not owed to you. [Exe. Luc. and Old Ath. Poet. Vouchfafe my labour, and long live your Lordship!

Tim. I thank you, you shall hear from me anon: Go not away. What have you there, my friend? Pain. A piece of painting, which I do befeech Your Lordship to accept..

Tim. Painting is welcome.

The painting is almost the natural man:
For fince difhonour traffics with man's nature,
He is but outfide: penciled figures are

VOL. X.

B

Even fuch as they give out. I like your work;
And you fhall find I like it: wait attendance
'Till you hear further from me.

Pain. The gods preferve ye!

Tim. Well fare you, gentleman: give me your hand: We must needs dine together: Sir, your jewel Hath fuffered under praise.

Jer. What, my Lord? difpraife?
Tim. A mere fatiety of commendations.
If I fhould pay you for't as 'tis extolled,
It would unclew me quite.

Jew. My Lord, 'tis rated

As thofe which fell would give: but you
well know,
Things of like value, differing in the owners,
Are by their masters prized: believe't, dear Lord,
You mend the jewel by the wearing it.

Tim. Well mocked.

Mer. No, my good Lord, he fpeaks the comWhich all men speak with him. [mon tongue,

Tim. Look, who comes here.

Enter APEMANTUS.

Will you be chid?

Few. We'll bear it with your Lordship.
Mer. He'll fpare none.

Tim. Good-morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus! Apem. 'Till I be gentle, stay for thy good-morrow; When thou art Timon's dog, and these knaves

honeft.

Tim. Why doft thou call them knaves? thou knoweft them not.

Apem. Are they not Athenians?

Tim. Yes.

Apem. Then I repent not.

[name..

Jew. You know me, Apemantus.
Apem. Thou knoweft I do, I called thee by thy
Tim. Thou art proud, Apemantus.

Apem. Of nothing fo much, as that I am not

like Timon.

Tim. Whither art going?

Apem. To knock out an honeft Athenian's brains. Tim. That's a deed thou'lt die for.

Apem. Right, if doing nothing be death by the law. Tim. How likeft thou this picture, Apemantus? Apem. The beft, for the innocence.

Tim. Wrought he not well that painted it ? Apem. He wrought better that made the painter: and yet he's but a filthy piece of work.

Pain. Y'are a dog.

Apem. Thy mother's of my generation: what's fhe, if i be a dog?

Tim. Wilt dine with me, Apemantus?
Apem. No, I eat not Lords.

Tim. If thou fhouldft, thou'dft anger ladies.
Apem. O, they eat Lords; fo they come by great

bellies.

Tim. That's a lafcivious apprehenfion. Apem. So thou apprehendeft it. Take it for thy labour.

Tim. How doft thou like this jewel, Apemantus? Apem. Not fo well as plain-dealing, which will not coft a man a doit.

Tim. What doft thou think 'tis worth?

Apem. Not worth my thinking--How now, Poet? Poet. How now, Philofopher?

Apem. Thou lieft.

Poet. Art thou not one..
Apem. Yes.

Poet. Then I lie not.

Apem. Art not a poet?
Poet. Yes.

Apem. Then thou lieft: look in thy laft work, where thou haft feigned him a worthy fellow.

Poet. That's not feigned, he is fo.

Apem. Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay thee for thy labour. He that loves to be flattered, is worthy o' th' flatterer. Heavens, that I were a

Lord!

Tim. What would't do then, Apemantus? Apem. Even as Apemantus does now, hate a Lord with my heart.

Tim. What, thyfelf?

pem, Ay.

Tim. Wherefore?

Apem. That I had so hungry a wit, to be a
Lord.----(5)

Art thou not a merchant?

Mer. Ay, Apemantus.

Apem. Traffic confound thee, if the gods will

not!

-Mer. If Traffic do it, the gods do it.

Apem. Traffic's thy god, and thy god confound thee!

Trampets found. Enter a Mefenger.

Tim. What trumpet's that?

Mef. 'Tis Alcibiades, and fome twenty horfe All of companionship.

Tim. Pray, entertain them, give them guide to us.
You must needs dine with me: you go not hence
'Till I have thanked you; and when dinner's done,
Shew me this piece. I'm joyful.of your fights.

(5) That I had no angry wit to be a Lord, This reading is abfurd and unintelligible. But as I have restored the text, it is fatirical enough of all confcience, and to the purpose, viz. I would hate myself, for having no more wit than to covet fo infignificant a title. In the fame fenfe Shakespeare ufes lean-witted, in his Richard II.

nd thou a lunatic, lean-witted fool.

Mr Warburton..

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