Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller and Merchant at several doors.
POET.
Good day, sir.
PAINTER.
I am glad you’re well.
POET.
I have not seen you long. How goes the world?
PAINTER.
It wears, sir, as it grows.
POET.
Ay, that’s well known.
But what particular rarity? What strange,
Which manifold record not matches? See,
Magic of bounty, all these spirits thy power
Hath conjured to attend! I know the merchant.
PAINTER.
I know them both. Th’ other’s a jeweller.
MERCHANT.
O, ’tis a worthy lord!
JEWELLER.
Nay, that’s most fixed.
MERCHANT.
A most incomparable man, breathed, as it were,
To an untirable and continuate goodness.
He passes.
JEWELLER.
I have a jewel here—
MERCHANT.
O, pray let’s see’t. For the Lord Timon, sir?
JEWELLER.
If he will touch the estimate. But for that—
POET.
When we for recompense have praised the vile,
It stains the glory in that happy verse
Which aptly sings the good.
MERCHANT.
[Looking at the jewel.]
’Tis a good form.
JEWELLER.
And rich. Here is a water, look ye.
PAINTER.
You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedication
To the great lord.
POET.
A thing slipped idly from me.
Our poesy is as a gum which oozes
From whence ’tis nourished. The fire i’ th’ flint
Shows not till it be struck; our gentle flame
Provokes itself and, like the current, flies
Each bound it chases. What have you there?
PAINTER.
A picture, sir. When comes your book forth?
POET.
Upon the heels of my presentment, sir.
Let’s see your piece.
PAINTER.
’Tis a good piece.
POET.
So ’tis. This comes off well and excellent.
PAINTER.
Indifferent.
POET.
Admirable! How this grace
Speaks his own standing! What a mental power
This eye shoots forth! How big imagination
Moves in this lip! To th’ dumbness of the gesture
One might interpret.
PAINTER.
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 these touches livelier than life.
Enter certain Senators, who pass over the stage.
PAINTER.
How this lord is followed!
POET.
The senators of Athens, happy men!
PAINTER.
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 particularly, but moves itself
In a wide sea of wax. No levelled malice
Infects one comma in the course I hold,
But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on,
Leaving no tract behind.
PAINTER.
How shall I understand you?
POET.
I will unbolt to you.
You see how all conditions, how all minds,
As well of glib and slipp’ry creatures as
Of grave and austere quality, tender down
Their services to Lord Timon. His large fortune,
Upon his good and gracious nature hanging,
Subdues and properties to his love and tendance
All sorts of hearts; yea, from the glass-faced flatterer
To Apemantus, that few things loves better
Than to abhor himself; even he drops down
The knee before him and returns in peace
Most rich in Timon’s nod.
PAINTER.
I saw them speak together.
POET.
Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill
Feigned Fortune to be throned. The base o’ th’ mount
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 fixed,
One do I personate of Lord Timon’s frame,
Whom Fortune with her ivory hand wafts to her,
Whose present grace to present slaves and servants
Translates his rivals.
PAINTER.
’Tis conceived to scope.
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, sir, 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 sacrificial whisperings in his ear,
Make sacred even his stirrup, and through him
Drink the free air.
PAINTER.
Ay, marry, what of these?
POET.
When Fortune in her shift and change of mood
Spurns down her late beloved, all his dependants,
Which laboured after him to the mountain’s top
Even on their knees and hands, let him slip down,
Not one accompanying his declining foot.
PAINTER.
’Tis common.
A thousand moral paintings I can show
That shall demonstrate these quick blows of Fortune’s
More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well
To show Lord Timon that mean eyes have seen
The foot above the head.
Trumpets sound. Enter Lord Timon, addressing himself courteously to every suitor. He is accompanied by a Messenger; Lucilius and other servants follow.
TIMON.
Imprisoned is he, say you?
MESSENGER.
Ay, my good lord. Five talents is his debt,
His means most short, his creditors most strait.
Your honourable letter he desires
To those have shut him up, which, failing,
Periods his comfort.
TIMON.
Noble Ventidius. Well,
I am not of that feather to shake off
My friend when he must need me. I do know him
A gentleman that well deserves a help,
Which he shall have. I’ll pay the debt and free him.
MESSENGER.
Your lordship ever binds him.
TIMON.
Commend me to him, I will send his ransom;
And, being enfranchised, bid him come to me.
’Tis not enough to help the feeble up,
But to support him after. Fare you well.
MESSENGER.
All happiness to your honour.
[Exit.]
Enter an Old Athenian.
OLD ATHENIAN.
Lord Timon, hear me speak.
TIMON.
Freely, good father.
OLD ATHENIAN.
Thou hast a servant named Lucilius.
TIMON.
I have so. What of him?
OLD ATHENIAN.
Most noble Timon, call the man before thee.
TIMON.
Attends he here or no? Lucilius!
LUCILIUS.
Here, at your lordship’s service.
OLD ATHENIAN.
This fellow here, Lord Timon, this thy creature,
By night frequents my house. I am a man
That from my first have been inclined to thrift,
And my estate deserves an heir more raised
Than one which holds a trencher.
TIMON.
Well, what further?
OLD ATHENIAN.
One only daughter have I, no kin else,
On whom I may confer what I have got.
The maid is fair, o’ th’ 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 prithee, noble lord,
Join with me to forbid him her resort;
Myself have spoke in vain.
TIMON.
The man is honest.
OLD ATHENIAN.
Therefore he will be, Timon.
His honesty rewards him in itself;
It must not bear my daughter.
TIMON.
Does she love him?
OLD ATHENIAN.
She is young and apt.
Our own precedent passions do instruct us
What levity’s in youth.
TIMON.
[To Lucilius.] Love you the maid?
LUCILIUS.
Ay, my good lord, and she accepts of it.
OLD ATHENIAN.
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
And dispossess her all.
TIMON.
How shall she be endowed,
If she be mated with an equal husband?
OLD ATHENIAN.
Three talents on the present; in future, all.
TIMON.
This gentleman of mine hath served me long.
To build his fortune I will strain a little,
For ’tis a bond in men. Give him thy daughter.
What you bestow, in him I’ll counterpoise,
And make him weigh with her.
OLD ATHENIAN.
Most noble lord,
Pawn me to this your honour, she is his.
TIMON.
My hand to thee; mine honour on my promise.
LUCILIUS.
Humbly I thank your lordship. Never may
That state or fortune fall into my keeping
Which is not owed to you.
[Exeunt Lucilius and Old Athenian.]
POET.
[Presenting his poem.]
Vouchsafe my labour, and long live your lordship.
TIMON.
I thank you, you shall hear from me anon.
Go not away.—What have you there, my friend?
PAINTER.
A piece of painting, which I do beseech
Your lordship to accept.
TIMON.
Painting is welcome.
The painting is almost the natural man,
For since dishonour traffics with man’s nature,
He is but outside; these pencilled figures are
Even such as they give out. I like your work,
And you shall find I like it. Wait attendance
Till you hear further from me.
PAINTER.
The gods preserve you.
TIMON.
Well fare you, gentleman. Give me your hand.
We must needs dine together. Sir, your jewel
Hath suffered under praise.
JEWELLER.
What, my lord, dispraise?
TIMON.
A mere satiety of commendations.
If I should pay you for ’t as ’tis extolled,
It would unclew me quite.
JEWELLER.
My lord, ’tis rated
As those which sell would give. But you well know
Things of like value, differing in the owners,
Are prized by their masters. Believe’t, dear lord,
You mend the jewel by the wearing it.
TIMON.
Well mocked.
MERCHANT.
No, my good lord, he speaks the common tongue,
Which all men speak with him.
Enter Apemantus.
TIMON.
Look who comes here. Will you be chid?
JEWELLER.
We’ll bear, with your lordship.
MERCHANT.
He’ll spare none.
TIMON.
Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus.
APEMANTUS.
Till I be gentle, stay thou for thy good morrow—
When thou art Timon’s dog, and these knaves honest.
TIMON.
Why dost thou call them knaves? Thou know’st them not.
APEMANTUS.
Are they not Athenians?
TIMON.
Yes.
APEMANTUS.
Then I repent not.
JEWELLER.
You know me, Apemantus?
APEMANTUS.
Thou know’st I do, I called thee by thy name.
TIMON.
Thou art proud, Apemantus.
APEMANTUS.
Of nothing so much as that I am not like Timon.
TIMON.
Whither art going?
APEMANTUS.
To knock out an honest Athenian’s brains.
TIMON.
That’s a deed thou’lt die for.
APEMANTUS.
Right, if doing nothing be death by th’ law.
TIMON.
How lik’st thou this picture, Apemantus?
APEMANTUS.
The best, for the innocence.
TIMON.
Wrought he not well that painted it?
APEMANTUS.
He wrought better that made the painter, and yet he’s but a filthy piece
of work.
PAINTER.
You’re a dog.
APEMANTUS.
Thy mother’s of my generation. What’s she, if I be a dog?
TIMON.
Wilt dine with me, Apemantus?
APEMANTUS.
No, I eat not lords.
TIMON.
An thou shouldst, thou’dst anger ladies.
APEMANTUS.
O, they eat lords. So they come by great bellies.
TIMON.
That’s a lascivious apprehension.
APEMANTUS.
So thou apprehend’st it, take it for thy labour.
TIMON.
How dost thou like this jewel, Apemantus?
APEMANTUS.
Not so well as plain-dealing, which will not cost a man a doit.
TIMON.
What dost thou think ’tis worth?
APEMANTUS.
Not worth my thinking. How now, poet?
POET.
How now, philosopher?
APEMANTUS.
Thou liest.
POET.
Art not one?
APEMANTUS.
Yes.
POET.
Then I lie not.
APEMANTUS.
Art not a poet?
POET.
Yes.
APEMANTUS.
Then thou liest. Look in thy last work, where thou hast feigned him a worthy
fellow.
POET.
That’s not feigned, he is so.
APEMANTUS.
Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay thee for thy labour. He that loves to be
flattered is worthy o’ th’ flatterer. Heavens, that I were a lord!
TIMON.
What wouldst do then, Apemantus?
APEMANTUS.
E’en as Apemantus does now, hate a lord with my heart.
TIMON.
What, thyself?
APEMANTUS.
Ay.
TIMON.
Wherefore?
APEMANTUS.
That I had no angry wit to be a lord. Art not thou a merchant?
MERCHANT.
Ay, Apemantus.
APEMANTUS.
Traffic confound thee, if the gods will not.
MERCHANT.
If traffic do it, the gods do it.
APEMANTUS.
Traffic’s thy god, and thy god confound thee!
Trumpet sounds. Enter a Messenger.
TIMON.
What trumpet’s that?
MESSENGER.
’Tis Alcibiades, and some twenty horse,
All of companionship.
TIMON.
Pray entertain them, give them guide to us.
[Exeunt some Attendants.]
You must needs dine with me. Go not you hence
Till I have thanked you; when dinner’s done,
Show me this piece. I am joyful of your sights.
Enter Alcibiades with his company.
Most welcome, sir.
[They bow to each other.]
APEMANTUS.
[Aside.] So, so, there!
Aches contract and starve your supple joints!
That there should be small love amongst these sweet knaves,
And all this courtesy! The strain of man’s bred out
Into baboon and monkey.
ALCIBIADES.
Sir, you have saved my longing, and I feed
Most hungerly on your sight.
TIMON.
Right welcome, sir!
Ere we depart we’ll share a bounteous time
In different pleasures. Pray you, let us in.
[Exeunt all but Apemantus.]
Enter two Lords.
FIRST LORD.
What time o’ day is’t, Apemantus?
APEMANTUS.
Time to be honest.
FIRST LORD.
That time serves still.
APEMANTUS.
The more accursed thou, that still omitt’st it.
SECOND LORD.
Thou art going to Lord Timon’s feast?
APEMANTUS.
Ay, to see meat fill knaves and wine heat fools.
SECOND LORD.
Fare thee well, fare thee well.
APEMANTUS.
Thou art a fool to bid me farewell twice.
SECOND LORD.
Why, Apemantus?
APEMANTUS.
Shouldst have kept one to thyself, for I mean to give thee none.
FIRST LORD.
Hang thyself!
APEMANTUS.
No, I will do nothing at thy bidding. Make thy requests to thy friend.
SECOND LORD.
Away, unpeaceable dog, or I’ll spurn thee hence.
APEMANTUS.
I will fly, like a dog, the heels o’ th’ ass.
[Exit.]
FIRST LORD.
He’s opposite to humanity. Come, shall we in
And taste Lord Timon’s bounty? He outgoes
The very heart of kindness.
SECOND LORD.
He pours it out; Plutus, the god of gold,
Is but his steward. No meed but he repays
Sevenfold above itself, no gift to him
But breeds the giver a return exceeding
All use of quittance.
FIRST LORD.
The noblest mind he carries
That ever governed man.
SECOND LORD.
Long may he live in fortunes. Shall we in?
FIRST LORD.
I’ll keep you company.
[Exeunt.]
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