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Speaks his own standing! what a mental power
Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life.
I'll say of it, . It tutors nature: artificial strife
Lives in these touches, livelier than life.
Enter certain Senators, and pass over.
Pain. How shall I understand you
I'll unbolt to you.
6 — artificial strife-] Strife is the contest of art with nature.
7 Halts not particularly,] My design does not stop at any single character. Johnson.
8 In a wide sea of war:] Anciently they wrote upon waxen tables with an iron style.
9— no levellid malice, &c.] To level is to aim, to point the shot at a mark. Shakspeare's meaning is, my poem is not a satire written with any particular view, or levelled at any single person; I fly like an eagle into the general expanse of life, and leave not, by any private mischief, the trace of my passage.
fu unbolt -] I'll open, I'll explain. Johnson.
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-fac'd flatterer? To Apemantus, that few things loves better Than to abhor hiinself: even he drops down The knee before him, and returns in peace Most rich in Timon's nod. Pain.
I saw them speak together. Poet. Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill, Feign'd Fortune to be thron'd: 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. Pain.
'Tis conceiv'd to scope. This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks, With one man beckon'd from the rest below, Bowing his head against the steepy mount To climb his happiness, would be well expressid In our condition. Poet.
Nay, sir, but hear me on:
-glass-fac'd flatterer-) That shows in his look, as by reflection, the looks of his patron. Johnson.
rank'd with all deserts,] Cover'd with ranks of all kinds of men. Johnson.
4 To propagate their states:) To advance or improve their various conditions of life. Jounson.
conceiv'd to scope.] Properly imagined, appositely, to the purpose. JOHNSON.
• In our condition.] Condition for art.
All those which were his fellows but of late,
Ay, marry, what of these?
mood, Spurns down her late belov’d, 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.
Pain. 'Tis common: A thousand moral paintings I can show, That shall demonstrate these quick blows of fortune 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, attended ; the Ser.
vant 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,
to a god.
* Rain sacrificial whisperings-) i. e. whisperings of officious servility, the incense of the worshipping parasite to the patron as
through him Drink the free air.] That is, breathe only with his permission.
A thousand moral paintings I can show,] Shakspeare seems to intend in this dialogue to express sone competition between the two great arts of imitation. Whatever the poet declares himself to have shown, the painter thinks he could have shown better.
mean eyes -) i. e. inferior spectators.
Periods his comfort.
Noble Ventidius! Well;
Ven. Serv. Your lordship ever binds him.
Ven. Serv. All happiness to your honour!? [Exit.
Enter an old Athenian.
Old Ath. Lord Timon, hear me speak.
Freely, good father.
thee. Tim. Attends he here, or no?—Lucilius!
Well; what further?
your honour.'] The common address to a lord in our author's time, was your honour, which was indifferently used with your lordship.
On whom I may confer what I have got:
The man is honest.
Does she love him? Old Ath. She is
young, Our own precedent passions do instruct us What levity's in youth.
Tim. [TO Lucilius.] Love you the maid? Luc. Ay, my good lord, and she accepts of it.
Old Ath. 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. 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.
Therefore he will be, Timon:] The thought is closely expressed, and obscure: but this seems the meaning: “ If the man be honest, my lord, for that reason he will be so in this; and not endeavour at the injustice of gaining my daughter without my consent." WARBURTON.