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TIMON OF ATHENS.

VOL. VIII.

B

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:::Hortensius,

Two Servants of Varro, and the Servant of Isidore;

two of Timon's creditors.

Cupid and Maskers. Three Strangers.
Poet, Painter, Jeweller and Merchant.
An old Athenian. A Page, A Fool.

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Other Lords, Senators, Officers, Soldiers, Thieves, and
Attendants.

SCENE, Athens; and the Woods adjoining.

TIMON OF ATHENS...

ACT I.

SCENE I. Athens. A Hall in Timon's House.

Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and Others

Good day, sir.

Pain.

at several Doors.

Poet.

I am glad you are well.

Poet. I have not seen you long; How goes the

- world?

Pain. It wears sir, as it grows.
Poet.

Ay, that's well known:

But what particular rarity? what strange,
Which manifold record not matches? See,
Magick of bounty! all these spirits thy power
Hath conjur'd to attend. I know the merchant.
Pain. I know them both; t'other's a jeweller.

Mer. O, 'tis a worthy lord!

Jew.

Nay, that's most fix'd.

Mer. A most incomparable man; breath'd, as it

were,

To an untirable and continuate goodness:

He passes.3

Jew.

I have a jewel here.

Mer. O, pray, let's see't: For the lord Timon, sir?

■ Inured by constant practice.

2 For continual.

3 i. e. Exceeds, goes beyond common bounds.

Jew. If he will touch the estimate: But, for thatPoet. When we for recompense have prais'd the vile,

It stains the glory in that happy verse

Which aptly sings the good.

Mer.

'Tis a good form.

[Looking at the Jewel.

Jew. And rich: here is a water, look you.

Pain. You are rapt, sir, in some work, some de

dication

To the great lord.
Poet.

A thing slipp'd idly from me.

Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes

From whence 'tis nourished: 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?

Pain. A picture, sir.-And when comes your book

forth?

Poet. Upon the heels of my presentment, 4 sir.

Let's see your piece.

Pain.

'Tis a good piece.

Poet. So'tis: this comes off well and excellent.

Pain. 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.

Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life.

Here is a touch; Is't good?

Poet.

I'll say of it,

4 As soon as my book has been presented to Timon.

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