Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady fix'd, 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, sir, 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, A thousand moral paintings I can show That shall demonstrate these quick blows of fortune Trumpets sound. Enter TIMON, attended; the Servant of VENTIDIUS talking with him. Tim. Imprison'd is he, say you? Ven. Serv. 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 to him, Periods his comfort. Tim. 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. Ven. Serv. Your lordship ever binds him. Tim. Commend me to him: I will send his ran some; And, being enfranchis'd, bid him come to me:'Tis not enough to help the feeble up, But to support him after. - Fare you well. Ven. Serv. All happiness to your honour! [Exit. Enter an old Athenian. Old Ath. Lord Timon, hear me speak. Tim. 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. creature By night frequents my house. I am a man And 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, This man of thine Attempts her love: I pr'ythee, noble lord, Tim. The man is honest. Old Ath. Therefore he will be, Timon: Tim. Does she love him? Old Ath. She is young, and apt: Tim. [To LUCILIUS.] Love you the maid? I call the gods to witness, I will choose 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. Give him thy daughter: What you bestow, in him I'll counterpoise, And make him weigh with her. Old Ath. Most noble lord, 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. 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. Jew. My lord, 'tis rated As those, which sell, would give: But you well know, Things of like value, differing in the owners, 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? Enter APEMANTUS. Jew. We will bear, with your lordship. Mer. 9 Ruin. He'll spare none. Tim. Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus! Apem. Till I be gentle, stay for thy good mor row; When thou art Timon's dog, and these knaves honest. Tim. Why dost thou call them knaves? thou know'st them not. Apem. Are they not Athenians? Apem. Then I repent not. Jew. You know me, Apemantus. Apem. Thou knowest, 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, Apemantus? Apem. The best, for the innocence. 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. 1 Alluding to the proverb: Plain-dealing is a jewel, but they who use it beggars. |