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              TIMON OF ATHENS

 

              DRAMATIS PERSONAE

 

TIMON              of Athens.

 

LUCIUS              |

              |

LUCULLUS              |  flattering lords.

              |

SEMPRONIUS              |

 

VENTIDIUS              one of Timon's false friends.

 

ALCIBIADES              an Athenian captain.

 

APEMANTUS              a churlish philosopher.

 

FLAVIUS              steward to Timon.

 

              Poet, Painter, Jeweller, and Merchant. (Poet:)

              (Painter:)

              (Jeweller:)

              (Merchant:)

 

              An old Athenian. (Old Athenian:)

 

FLAMINIUS              |

              |

LUCILIUS              |  servants to Timon.

              |

SERVILIUS              |

 

CAPHIS              |

              |

PHILOTUS              |

              |

TITUS              |

              |  servants to Timon's creditors.

LUCIUS              |

              |

HORTENSIUS              |

              |

And others              |

 

              A Page. (Page:)

 

              A Fool. (Fool:)

 

              Three Strangers.

              (First Stranger:)

              (Second Stranger:)

              (Third Stranger:)

 

PHRYNIA              |

              |  mistresses to Alcibiades.

TIMANDRA              |

 

              Cupid and Amazons in the mask. (Cupid:)

 

              Other Lords, Senators, Officers, Soldiers,

              Banditti, and Attendants.

              (First Lord:)

              (Second Lord:)

              (Third Lord:)

              (Fourth Lord:)

              (Senator:)

              (First Senator:)

              (Second Senator:)

              (Third Senator:)

              (Soldier:)

              (First Bandit:)

              (Second Bandit:)

              (Third Bandit:)

              (Messenger:)

              (Servant:)

              (First Servant:)

              (Second Servant:)

              (Third Servant:)

              (Varro's First Servant:)

              (Varro's Second Servant:)

              (Lucilius' Servant:)

 

SCENE              Athens, and the neighbouring woods.

 

              TIMON OF ATHENS

 

ACT I

 

SCENE I              Athens. A hall in Timon's house.

 

              [Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and

              others, 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 fix'd.

 

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              [Reciting to himself]  'When we for recompense have

              praised the vile,

              It stains the glory in that happy verse

              Which aptly sings the good.'

 

Merchant              'Tis a good form.

 

              [Looking at the jewel]

 

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 slipp'd idly from me.

              Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes

              From whence 'tis nourish'd: the fire i' the flint

              Shows not till it be struck; our gentle flame

              Provokes itself and like the current flies

              Each bound it chafes. 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 the 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 will say of it,

              It tutors nature: artificial strife

              Lives in these touches, livelier than life.

 

              [Enter certain Senators, and pass over]

 

Painter              How this lord is follow'd!

 

Poet              The senators of Athens: happy man!

 

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 levell'd 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 slippery 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

              Feign'd Fortune to be throned: the base o' the mount

              Is rank'd 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 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 beckon'd from the rest below,

              Bowing his head against the sleepy mount

              To climb his happiness, would be well express'd

              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 labour'd 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 TIMON, addressing himself

              courteously to every suitor; a Messenger from

              VENTIDIUS talking with him; LUCILIUS and other

              servants following]

 

TIMON              Imprison'd 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.

 

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