Strange times, that weep with laughing, not with weeping! Flav. I beg of you to know me, good my lord; To accept my grief; and, whilst this poor wealth lasts, To entertain me as your steward still. Timon. Had I a steward so true, so just, and now So comfortable? It almost turns My dangerous nature wild. Let me behold Methinks, thou art more honest now than wise; Thou mightst have sooner got another service: Upon their first lord's neck. But tell me true, If not a usuring kindness; and, as rich men deal gifts, Expecting in return twenty for one? Flav. No, my most worthy master, in whose breast Doubt and suspect, alas, are placed too late: You should have fear'd false times, when you did feast: Suspect still comes where an estate is least. That which I show, Heaven knows, is merely love, Care of your food and living: and, believe it, For any benefit that points to me, Either in hope or present, I'd exchange For this one wish ;- -that had you power and wealth To requite me, by making rich yourself. man, Here, take the gods out of my misery Have sent thee treasure. Go, live rich, and happy; But thus condition'd :-thou shalt build from men ; 1 Hate all, curse all; show charity to none; But let the famish'd flesh slide from the bone, Ere thou relieve the beggar: give to dogs What thou deniest to men: let prisons swallow them, Debts wither them to nothing. Be men like blasted woods, And may diseases lick up their false bloods! And so, farewell, and thrive. Flav. And comfort you, my master. O, let me stay, If thou hatest 1 Remote from human habitations. Curses, stay not; fly, whilst thou 'rt bless'd and free. Ne'er see thou man, and let me ne'er see thee. ACT V. [Exeunt, severally. The same. SCENE I. Before Timon's cave. Enter POET and PAINTER; TIMON behind, unseen. Paint. As I took note of the place, it cannot be far where he abides. Poet. What's to be thought of him? Does the rumor hold for true, that he is so full of gold? Paint. Certain. Alcibiades reports it; Phrynia and Timandra had gold of him: he likewise enriched poor straggling soldiers with great quantity. "Tis said, he gave unto his steward a mighty sum. Poet. Then this breaking of his has been but a try for his friends. Paint. Nothing else: you shall see him a palm in Athens again, and florish with the highest. Therefore, 'tis not amiss, we tender our loves to him, in this supposed distress of his: it will show honestly in us; and is very likely to load our purposes with what they travel for, if it be a just and true report that goes of his having. Poet. What have you now to present unto him? Paint. Nothing at this time but my visitation; only I will promise him an excellent piece. Poet. I must serve him so too; tell him of an intent that's coming toward him. Paint. Good as the best. Promising is the very air o' the time; it opens the eyes of expectation : performance is ever the duller for his act; and, but in the plainer and simpler kind of people, the deed of saying 1 is quite out of use. To promise is most courtly and fashionable: performance is a kind of will, or testament, which argues a great sickness in his judgment that makes it. Timon. Excellent workman! Thou canst not paint a man so bad as is thyself. Poet. I am thinking, what I shall say I have provided for him: it must be a personating of himself; a satire against the softness of prosperity; with a discovery of the infinite flatteries that follow youth and opulency. Timon. Must thou needs stand for a villain in thine own work? Wilt thou whip thine own faults in other men? Do so; I have gold for thee. Poet. Nay, let's seek him: Then do we sin against our own estate, When the day serves, before black-corner'd night, 1 i. e. the doing of that which we said we would do. Come. Timon. I'll meet you at the turn. What a god's gold, That he is worshipp'd in a baser temple, Than where swine feed! "Tis thou that rigg'st the bark, and plough'st the foam ; Settlest admired reverence in a slave. To thee be worship; and thy saints for aye Be crown'd with plagues, that thee alone obey! Poet. Hail, worthy Timon! Paint. [advancing. Our late noble master. Timon. Have I once lived to see two honest men ? Poet. Sir, Having often of your open bounty tasted, Hearing you were retired, your friends fallen off, Whose star-like nobleness gave life and influence With any size of words. Timon. Let it go naked, men may see 't the better. You, that are honest, by being what you are, Make them best seen and known. Paint. He and myself Have travell'd in the great shower of your gifts, And sweetly felt it. |