travel for, if it be a just and true report that goes of his having.

Poet. What have you now to present unto him?

Pain. Nothing at this time but my visitation: only I will promise him an excellent piece.

Poet. I must serve him so too; tell him of an intent that's coming toward him.

Pain. Good as the best. Promising is the very air o'the time; it opens the eyes of expectation: performance is ever the duller for his act; and, but in the plainer and simpler kind of people, the deed of saying is quite out of use. To promise is most courtly and fashionable: performance is a kind of will, or testament, which argues a great sickness in his judgment that makes it.

3

Tim. Excellent workman! Thou canst not paint a man so bad as is thyself.

Poet. I am thinking, what I shall say I have provided for him: It must be a personating of himself: a satire against the softness of prosperity; with a discovery of the infinite flatteries, that follow youth and opulency.

Tim. Must thou needs stand for a villain in thine own work? Wilt thou whip thine own faults in other men? Do so, I have gold for thee.

Poet. Nay, let's seek him:

Then do we sin against our own estate,

When we may profit meet, and come too late.

Pain. True;

When the day serves, before black-corner'd night,
Find what thou want'st by free and offer'd light.
Come.

What a god's gold,

Tim. I'll meet you at the turn.
That he is worshipp'd in a baser temple,

3

the deed of saying is quite out of use.] The doing of that which we have said we would do, the accomplishment and performance of our promise, is, except among the lower classes of mankind, quite out of use.

Than where swine feed!

'Tis thou that rigg'st the bark, and plough'st the foam; Settlest admired reverence in a slave :

To thee be worship! and thy saints for aye

Be crown'd with plagues, that thee alone obey! 'Fit I do meet them.

Poet. Hail, worthy Timon!

Pain.

[Advancing.

Our late noble master.

Tim. Have I once liv'd to see two honest men?
Poet. Sir,

Having often of your open bounty tasted,

Hearing you were retir'd, your friends fall'n off,
Whose thankless natures-O abhorred spirits!
Not all the whips of heaven are large enough
What! to you!

Whose star-like nobleness gave life and influence
To their whole being! I'm rapt, and cannot cover
The monstrous bulk of this ingratitude

With any size of words.

Tim. Let it go naked, men may see't the better: You, that are honest, by being what you are, Make them best seen, and known.

Pain.

He, and myself,

Have travell❜d in the great shower of your gifts,
And sweetly felt it.

Tim.

Ay, you are honest men.

Pain. We are hither come to offer you our service. Tim. Most honest men! Why, how shall I requite you?

Can you eat roots, and drink cold water? no.

Both. What we can do, we'll do, to do you service.
Tim. You are honest men: You have heard that I

have gold;

I am sure, you have: speak truth: you are honest

men.

Pain. So it is said, my noble lord: but therefore Came not my friend, nor I.

Tim. Good honest men: Thou draw'st a counter

feit 4

--

Best in all Athens: thou art, indeed, the best;
Thou counterfeit'st most lively.

Pain.

So, so, my lord.

Tim. Even so, sir, as I say:-And, for thy fiction,

[To the Poet. Why, thy verse swells with stuff so fine and smooth, That thou art even natural in thine art.But, for all this, my honest-natur'd friends, I must needs say, you have a little fault: Marry, 'tis not monstrous in you; neither wish I, You take much pains to mend.

Both.

To make it known to us.

Tim.

Beseech your honour,

You'll take it ill.

Will you, indeed?

Both. Most thankfully, my lord.
Tim.

Both. Doubt it not, worthy lord.

Tim. There's ne'er a one of you but trusts a knave, That mightily deceives you.

Both.

Do we, my lord?

Tim Ay, and you hear him cog, see him dissemble, Know his gross patchery, love him, feed him,

Keep in your bosom: yet remain assur'd,

That he's a made-up villain.5

Pain. I know none such, my lord.

Poet.

Nor I.

Tim. Look you, I love you well; I'll give you gold, Rid me these villains from your companies: Hang them, or stab them, drown them in a draught,"

4 — a counterfeit -] A portrait was so called in our author's time.

5- a made-up villain.] That is, a villain that adopts qualities and characters not properly belonging to him; a hypocrite; or a made-up villain may mean, a complete, a finished villain.

6 in a draught,] That is, in the jakes.

Confound them by some course, and come to me,
I'll give you gold enough.

Both. Name them, my lord, let's know them.

Tim. You that way, and you this, but two in com

Each man apart, all single and alone,

Yet an arch-villain keeps him company.

If where thou art, two villains shall not be,

[To the Painter.

Come not near him.—If thou would'st not reside

[To the Poet.

-

But where one villain is, then him abandon.-
Hence! pack! there's gold, ye came for gold, ye slaves:
You have done work for me, there's payment: Hence!
You are an alchymist, make gold of that:

Out, rascal dogs! [Exit, beating and driving them out.

SCENE II.

The same.

Enter FLAVIUS, and Two Senators.

Flav. It is in vain that you would speak with Timon; For he is set so only to himself,

That nothing but himself, which looks like man,

Is friendly with him.

1 Sen.

Bring us to his cave:

It is our part, and promise to the Athenians,

To speak with Timon.

At all times alike

2 Sen.
Men are not still the same: 'Twas time, and griefs,
That fram'd him thus: time, with his fairer hand,
Offering the fortunes of his former days,

The former man may make him: Bring us to him,
And chance it as it may.

Flav.

Here is his cave.—

Peace and content be here! Lord Timon! Timon!
Look out and speak to friends: The Athenians,
By two of their most reverend senate, greet thee:
Speak to them, noble Timon.

Enter TIMON.

Tim. Thou sun, that comfort'st, burn!-Speak, and be hang'd:

For each true word, a blister! and each false
Be as a caut'rizing to the root o'the tongue,
Consuming it with speaking!

1 Sen.

Worthy Timon,

Tim. Of none but such as you, and you of Timon. 2 Sen. The senators of Athens greet thee, Timon. Tim. I thank them; and would send them back the

plague,

Could I but catch it for them.

O, forget

1 Sen.
What we are sorry for ourselves in thee.

The senators, with one consent of love, 7
Entreat thee back to Athens, who have thought
On special dignities, which vacant lie

For thy best use and wearing.

2 Sen.

They confess,

Toward thee, forgetfulness too general, gross:

Which now the publick body, which doth seldom
Play the recanter, — feeling in itself

A lack of Timon's aid, hath sense withal

Of its own fall, restraining aid to Timon;

And send forth us, to make their sorrowed render,
Together with a recompense more fruitful

Than their offence can weigh down by the dram;9

8

7

8

with one consent of love,] With one united voice of affection. sorrowed render,] Render is confession.

9 Than their offence can weigh down by the dram;] The speaker means, a recompense that shall more than counterpoise their offences, though weighed with the most scrupulous exactness.