Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, GOOD day, fir. Pain. feveral doors. Poet. I am glad you are well. Poet. I have not feen you long; How go Pain. It wears, fir, as it grows. Poet. Ay, that But what particular rarity? what strange, Which manifold record not matches? See, Magick of bounty! all thefe fpirits thy pow Hath conjur'd to attend. I know the merc Pain. I know them both; t'other's a jew Mer. O, 'tis a worthy lord! Jew. Nay, that's Mer. A moft incomparable man; breath To an untirable and continuate goodness: He paffes. Jew. I have a jewel here. Mer. O, pray, let's fee't: For the lord T few. If he will touch the estimate: But Poet. When we for recompenfe have prais'a B It flains the glory in that happy verse Which aptly fings the good. Mer. 'Tis a good form. [Looking on the jewel. Jew. And rich: here is a water, look you. Pain. You are rapt, fir, in fome work, fome dedication great lord. To the Poet. A thing flipp'd idly from me. From whence 'tis nourished: The fire i'the flint Each bound it chafes. What have you there? Pain. A picture, fir.-And when comes your book forth? Poet. Upon the heels of my prefentment, fir. Let's fee your piece. Pain. 'Tis a good piece. Poet. So 'tis: this comes off well and excellent. Poet. Admirable How this grace : Speaks his own standing: what a mental power Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life. Poet. I'll fay of it, It tutors nature: artificial ftrife Lives in thefe touches, livelier than life. Enter certain Senators, and pafs over. Pain. How this lord's follow'd! Poet. The fenators of Athens;-Happy men! 3 Pain. the flint ame es mere? es your bo fir. llent. race er ure But flies an eagle flight, bold, and forth on, Pain. How fhall I understand you? Poet. I'll un You see how all conditions, how all minds, Pain. I saw them speak Poet. Sir, I have, upon a high and pleafar Whose present grace to present slaves and fervants Pain. 'Tis conceiv'd to scope. This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks, To climb his happiness, would be well express'd Poet. Nay, fir, but hear me on: Make sacred even his stirrop, and through him 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 flip 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 Trumpets found. Enter TIMON, attended; the Servant of VENTIDIUS talking with him. Tim. Imprifon'd is he, fay you? Ven. Serv. Ay, my good lord: five talents is his debt; Ven. Serv, Your lordship ever binds him Tim. Commend me to him: I will fend And, being enfranchis'd, bid him come to 'Tis not enough to help the feeble up, But to fupport him after.-Fare you well. Ven. Serv. All happiness to your honour Enter an old Athenian. Old Ath. Lord Timon, hear me speak. Freely Old Ath. Thou haft a fervant nam'd Luci Tim. I have fo: What of him? Old Ath. Moft noble Timon, call the mar Tim. Attends he here, or no?—Lucilius Enter LUCILIUS. Luc. Here, at your lordship's service. ture, By night frequents my house. I am a man That from my first have been inclin'd to th And my eftate deferves an heir more rais'd, Than one which holds a trencher. |