And, being enfranchis'd, bid him come to me:- But to support him after 10.-Fare you well. Enter an old Athenian. Old Ath. Lord Timon, hear me speak. Tim. [Exit. 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! Enter 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 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 pr'ythee, 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. Does she love him? apt: Old Ath. She is young, and What levity's in youth. Tim. [to Lucilius.] Love you the maid? Luc. Ay, my good lord, and she accepts of it. Old Ath. If in her marriage my consent be missing, I call the gods to witness, I will choose Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world, Tim. How shall she be endow'd, If she be mated with an equal husband? . Old Ath. Three talents, on the present; in future, all. Tim. This gentleman of mine hath serv'd me long; To build his fortune, I will strain a little, For 'tis a bond in men. What you bestow, in him I'll counterpoise, Give him thy daughter: Most noble lord, And make him weigh with her. Old Ath. Pawn me to this your honour, she is his. Tim. My hand to thee; mine honour on my promise. Luc. Humbly I thank your lordship: Never may That state or fortune fall into my keeping, Which is not ow'd to you! [Exeunt Lucilius and old Athenian. Poet. Vouchsafe 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 beseech Your lordship to accept. Tim. Painting is welcome. The painting is almost the natural man; For since dishonour trafficks with man's nature, Till hear further from me. you Pain. The gods preserve you! Tim. Well fare you, gentlemen: Give me your hand; We must needs dine together.-Sir, your jewel Hath suffer'd under praise. Jew. What, my lord? dispraise? Tim. A meer satiety of commendations. If I should pay you for't, as 'tis extoll'd, It would unclew me quite 12. Jew. My lord, 'tis rated As those, which sell, would give: But you well know, Are prized by their masters: believe't, dear lord, Tim. Well mock'd. Mer. No, my good lord; he speaks the common tongue, Which all men speak with him. Tim. Look, who comes here. Will you be chid? 13 Enter APEMANTUS. Jew. We will bear, with your lordship. Mer. Apem. Are they not Athenians? Apem. Then I repent not. Jew. You know me, Apemantus. Apem. Thou know'st, I do; I call'd thee by thy name. Tim. Thou art proud, Apemantus. Apem. Of nothing so much, as that I am not like Timon. Tim. Whither art going? Apem. To knock out an honest Athenian's brains. Tim. That's a deed thou'lt die for. Apem. Right, if doing nothing be death by the law. Tim. How likest thou this picture, Apeniantus? Apem. The best, 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. You are a dog. Apem. Thy mother's of my generation; What's she, if I be a dog? Tim. Wilt dine with me, Apemantus? Apem. No; I eat not lords. 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 apprehend'st 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. Tim. What dost thou think 'tis worth? Apem. Not worth my thinking.-How now, poet? Poet. How now, philosopher? Apem. Thou liest. Poet. Art not one? Apem. Yes. Poet. Then I lie not. Apem. Art not a poet? Poet. Yes. Apem. Then thou liest: look in thy last work, where thou hast feign'd him a worthy fellow. Poet. That's not feign'd, he is so. |