TIMO N

OF

ATHENS

Most hungerly on your fight.

Tim. Right welcome, Sir.

Ere we do part, we'll fhare a bounteous time (6)
In different pleasures. Pray you, let us in.

[Excunt.
Manet Apemantus. Enter Lucius and Lucullus.
Luc. What time a day is't, Apemantus?
Apem. Time to be honeft.

Luc. That time serves ftill.

Apem. The most accurfed thou, that ftill omitt'ft it. Lucul. Thou art going to lord Timon's feaft.

Apem. Ay, to fee meat fill knaves, and wine heat fools.
Lucul. Fare thee well, fare thee well.

Apem. Thou art a fool to bid me farewel twice.
Lucul. Why, Apemantus?

Apem. Thou fhould'ft have kept one to thy felf, for I mean to give thee none.

Luc. Hang thy self.

Apem. No, I will do nothing at thy bidding: make thy requests to thy friend.

Lucul. Away, unpeaceable dog, or-I'll fpurn thee

hence.

Apem. I will fly, like a dog, the heels o'th' afs.
Luc. He's oppofite to humanity.

Come, fhall we in, and tafte lord Timon's bounty ?
He, fure, outgoes the very heart of kindness.

Lucul. He pours it out. Plutus, the God of gold,
Is but his Steward: no meed but he
repays
Seven-fold above it self; no gift to him,
But breeds the giver a Return exceeding
All ufe of quittance.

Luc. The noblest mind he carries,

That ever govern'd man.

Lucul. Long may he live in fortunes! fhall we in? Luc. I'll keep you company.

[Exeunt

(6) Ere we depart, -] Tho' the Editions concur in this Reading, it is certainly faulty. Who depart? Tho' Alcibiades was to leave Timon, Timon was not to depart from his own Houfo. Common Senfe favours my Emendation.

SCENE

SCENE, another Apartment in Timon's Houfe.

Hautboys playing, loud mufick. A great banquet ferv'd in; and then enter Timon, Lucius, Lucullus, Sempronius, and other Athenian Senators, with Ventidius. Then comes, dropping after all, Apemantus difcontentedly.

Ven. OST honour'd Timon, it hath pleas'd the Gods To call my father's age unto long peace.

He is gone happy, and has left me rich.

Then, as in grateful virtue I am bound

To your free heart, I do return those talents,
Doubled with thanks and fervice, from whofe help
I deriv'd liberty.

Tim. O, by no means,

Honeft Ventidius: you mistake my love;
I gave it freely ever, and there's none
Can truly fay he gives, if he receives :

If our Betters play at that game, we muft not dare
To imitate them.

Faults that are rich, are fair.

Ven. A noble fpirit.

Tim. Nay, ceremony was but devis'd at firft, To fet a glofs on faint deeds, hollow welcomes, Recanting goodness, forry ere 'tis shown:

But where there is true friendship, there needs none. Pray, fit; more welcome are ye to my fortunes,

Than they to me.

Luc. We always have confest it.

[They fit down.

Apem. Ho, ho, confeft it? hang'd it, have you not? Tim. O, Apemantus! you are welcome.

Apem. No; you shall not make me welcome. I come to have thee thruft me out of doors.

Tim. Fie, th'art a churle; ye have got a humour there
Does not become a man, 'tis much to blame :
They say, my lords, that Ira furor brevis eft,
But yonder man is ever angry.

Go, let him have a table by himself:
For he does neither affect company,
VOL. VI.

F

Nor

Mer. O, pray, let's fee't:

For the lord Timon, Sir?

Jew. If he will touch the estimate: but for thatPoet. When we for recompence have prais'd the vile, It stains the glory in that happy verse

Which aptly fings the good.

Mer. "Tis a good form.

[Looking on the jewel.

Few. And rich; here is a water, look ye.

Pain. You're rapt, Sir, in fome Work, fome dedica

tion

To the great lord.

Poet. A thing flipt idly from me.

Our Poefie is as a Gum, which iffues

From whence 'tis nourished. The fire i'th' flint
Shews not, 'till it be ftruck: our gentle flame

Provokes it felf,

and like the current flies

Each Bound it chafes. What have you there? (1)
Pain. A picture, Sir:-when comes your book forth?
Poet. Upon the heels of my prefentment, Sir,
Let's fee your piece.

Pain. Tis a good piece.

Poet. So 'tis,

This comes off well and excellent.

Pain. Indiff'rent.

Poet. Admirable! how this grace

Speaks his own standing? what a mental power
This eye fhoots forth? how big imagination
Moves in this lip? to th' dumbness of the gefture
One might interpret.

Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life:
is't good?

Here is a touch

Poet. I'll fay of it,

It tutors Nature; artificial ftrife

Lives in those touches, livelier than life..

(1) Each Bound it chases.---] How, chafes? The Flood, indeed, beating up upon the Shore, covers a Part of it, but cannot be faid to drive the Shore away. The Poet's Allufion is to a Wave, which, foaming and chafing on the Shore, break; and then the Water feems to the Eye to retire,

Enter