TI MON OF ATHENS.

A C Τ Ι.

SCENE, a Hall in Timon's House.

Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweler, Merchant, and

Mercer, at several Doors..

POET.

G Ꮐ

OOD day, Sir.

Pain. I am glad y'are well.

Poet. I have not seen you long: how goes Pain. It wears, Sir, as it goes.

[the world? Poet. Ay, that's well known. But what particular rarity? what so strange, Which manifold record not matches? See, Magie of Bounty!) all these fpirits thy power Hath conjured to attend. I know the merchant.

Pain. I know them both; th other's a jeweler. Mer. O'tis a worthy Lord ! jew. Nay, that's most fixed.

Mer.. A most incomparable man, breathed as it To an untirable and continuate goodness. [were He pases

few. 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. When we for recompence have praised the It ftains the glory in that happy verfe. [vile, Which aptly fings the good.

Mer. "Tis a good form. [Looking on the jewel. jew. And rich; here is a water, look ye.

Pain. You're rapt, Sir, in some work, some
To the great Lord.

[dedication
Poet. A thing slipp'd idly from me.
Our poesy is as a gum which issues
From whence 'tis nourished. The fire o' th' flint.
Shews not till it be struck: our gentle flame
Provokes itself,---and like the current flies
Each bound it chases. What have you there? (1)
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 owň 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,
It tutors nature; artificial strife
Lives in those touches livelier than life. ,

(:) Each hound it chases.-) How chases? The flood, in-
deed, beating up upon the fhore, covers a part of it, but can-
not be said to drive the shore away. The Poct's allution is
to a wave, which, foaming and chafing on the thore, breaks,
and ihen the water icems to the eye to retire
So, in Liar:

The murmuring furge,
That vis the unnumbered idle pebbles chafes, déc.
And to in Jul Celkem:

The troubled Tiber, chifing with his shores.

Enter certain Senators.
Pain. How this Lord is, followed !
Poet. The Senators of Athens ! happy man! (2)
Pain. Look, more!
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 particular, but moves itself
In a wide fea of wax; no levelled malice.
Infects one comma in the course I hold,
But fies an eagle-flight, bold, and forth on,
Leaving no tract behind.

Pain. How shall I understand you?

Poet. I'll unbolt to you.
You see how all conditions, how all minds,
As well of glib and slipp’ry natures as
Of

grave and austere quality, tender down
Their service to Lord Timon: his large fortune,
Upon his good and gracious nature hanging,
Subdues and properties to his love and tendance
All forts of hearts; yea, from the glass-faced flat-

terer
To Apemantus, that few things loves better
Than'to abhor himself; even he drops down
The knee before him, and returns in peace
Moit rich in Timon's nod.

Pain. I saw them speak together. Poet. I have upon a high and pleasant hill (2) Happy men!] Thus the printed copies; but I cannot think the Poet meant that the fenators were happy in be ing admitted to Timon; their quality might command that; but that Timon was happy in being followed and carefred by those of their rank and dignity.

mount

Feigned Fortune to be throned. The base o' th'
Is ranked 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 Timon's frame,
Whom Fortune with her iv'ry hand wafts to her,
Whofe prefent grace to present flaves and servants
Translates his rivals.

Pain. 'Tis conceived to the scope. (3)
This throne, this fortune, and this hill, methinks,
With one man beckoned from the rest below,
Bowing his head against the steepy mount
To climb his happiness, would be well expressed
In our condition.

Poet. Nay, 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 facrificial whisp'rings in his ear; Make sacred even his stirrup ; and through him Drink the free air.

Pain. Ay, márry, what of these? (3) 'Tis conceived, to siope This throne, this fortune, &c.] Thus all the editors hitherto have nonsenûcally writ aed pointed this passage. But fure the painter would tell the poct, your conceptions, Sir, hit the very scope you aim at. This the Greeks would have sendered, rõ OXoti tuxeis, reéta ad fc pum tendis; and Cicero has thus expreffed on the like occasion, Signum oculis destinatum feris. This sense our Author, in his Henry VIII. ere preffes ;

I think you've hit the mark.
And in his Julius Cæfar, at the conclusion of the first adt;a

Him, and his worth, and our great aced of him,
You have right well conceitede

Poet. When Fortune in her shift and change of

mood Spurns doivn her late beloved, all his dependants (Which laboured after to the mountain's top, Even on their knees and hands), let him flip down, Not one accompanying his declining foot.

Pain, Tis common : A thousand moral paintings I can shew, That shall demonstrate these quick blows of

Fortune More pregriantly then words. Yet you do well To shew Lord Timon, that mean eyes have seen The foot above the head. Trumpets.sound. Enter timon, addressing himself

courteously to every Suitor. Tim. Imprisoned is he, fay you? [To a Melent.

Mes. Ay, my good Lord; five talents in his debt, His means molt fort, his creditors most straight Your honourable letter he defires To those have shut himn'up, which failing to him Periods his comfort.

Tim. Noble Ventidius! well...
I am not of that feather to shake off
My friend when he most needs me. I do know him
A gentleman that well deserves a help,
Which he ihall have. I'll pay the debt and free him.

Mes, Your Lordship ever binds him.
Tim. Commend me to him, I will send his ran-

fom;
And, being enfranchised, bid him come to me;
'Tis not enough to help the feeble up,
But to support him after.. Fare you well.

Mef. All happiness to your honour ! [Exit.