Bowing his head against the steepy Mount

To climbe his happinesse, would be well exprest
In our Condition.

Poet.
Nay Sir, but heare me on:
All those which were his Fellowes but of late,
Some better then his valew; on the moment
Follow his strides, his Lobbies fill with tendance,
Raine Sacrificiall whisperings in his eare,

Make Sacred even his styrrop, and through him
Drinke the free Ayre.

Pain. I marry, what of these?

Poet. When Fortune in her shift and change of mood Spurnes downe her late beloved; all his Dependants Which labour'd after him to the Mountaines top, Even on their knees and hand, let him sit downe, Not one accompanying his declining foot.

Pain. Tis common:

A thousand morall Paintings I can shew,

That shall demonstrate these quicke blowes of Fortunes,
More pregnantly then words. Yet you do well,
To shew Lord Timon, that meane eyes have seene
The foot above the head.

Trumpets sound.

Enter Lord Timon, addressing himselfe curteously to every Sutor.

Tim. Imprison'd is he, say you?

Mes. I my good Lord, five Talents is his debt, His meanes most short, his Creditors most straite : Your Honourable Letter he desires

To those have shut him up, which failing,

Periods his comfort.

Tim.

Noble Ventidius, well:

I am not of that Feather, to shake off

My Friend when he must neede me. I do know him

Exit.

A Gentleman, that well deserves a helpe,

Which he shall have. Ile pay the debt, and free him.
Mes. Your Lordship ever bindes him.

Tim. Commend me to him, I will send his ransome,
And being enfranchized bid him come to me;

'Tis not enough to helpe the Feeble up, But to support him after. Fare you well. Mes. All happinesse to your Honor.

Enter an old Athenian.

Freely good Father.

Oldm. Lord Timon, heare me speake.

Tim.

Oldm. Thou hast a Servant nam'd Lucilius.

Tim. I have so: What of him?

Oldm. Most Noble Timon, call the man before thee.

Tim. Attends he heere, or no? Lucillius.

Luc. Heere at your Lordships service.

Oldm. This Fellow heere, L. Timon, this thy Creature,

By night frequents my house. I am a man

That from my first have beene inclin'd to thrift,
And my estate deserves an Heyre more rais'd,
Then one which holds a Trencher.

Tim. Well: what further?

Old. One onely Daughter have I, no Kin else,
On whom 1 may conferre what I have got:
The Maid is faire, a'th'youngest for a Bride,
And I have bred her at my deerest cost
In Qualities of the best. This man of thine
Attempts her love: I prythee (Noble Lord)
Joyne with me to forbid him her resort,
My selfe have spoke in vaine.

Tim.

The man is honest.

Oldm. Therefore he will be Timon,
His honesty rewards him in it selfe.
It must not beare my Daughter.

She is yong and apt:

Tim. Does she love him?

Oldm.

Our owne precedent passions do instruct us

What levities in youth.

Tim.

Love you the Maid?

Luc. I my good Lord, and she accepts of it.
Oldm. If in her Marriage my consent be missing,

I call the Gods to witnesse, I will choose

Mine heyre from forth the Beggers of the world,
And dispossesse her all.

Tim.

How shall she be endowed,

If she be mated with an equall Husband ?

Oldm. Three Talents on the present; in future, all.

Tim. This Gentleman of mine

Hath serv'd me long:

To build his Fortune, I will straine a little,

For 'tis a Bond in men. Give him thy Daughter,

What you bestow, in him Ile counterpoize,

And make him weigh with her.

Oldm.

Most Noble Lord,

Pawne me to this your Honour, she is his.

Tim. My hand to thee,

Mine Honour on my promise.

Luc. Humbly I thanke your Lordship, never may

That state or Fortune fall into my keeping,

Which is not owed to you.

Poet.

Exit.

Vouchsafe my Labour,

And long live your Lordship.

Tim. I thanke you, you shall heare from me anon: Go not away. What have you there, my Friend? Pain. A peece of Painting, which I do beseech Your Lordship to accept.

Tim.

Painting is welcome.

The Painting is almost the Naturall man :

For since Dishonor Traffickes with mans Nature,

He is but out-side: These Pensil'd Figures are
Even such as they give out. I like your worke,
And you shall finde I like it; Waite attendance
Till you heare further from me.

Pain.

The Gods preserve ye.

Tim. Well fare you Gentleman: give me your hand, We must needs dine together: sir your Jewell

Hath suffered under praise.

Jewel.

What my Lord, dispraise?

Tim. A meere saciety of Commendations,

If I should pay you for't as 'tis extold,

It would unclew me quite.

Jewel.

My Lord, 'tis rated

As those which sell would give: but you well know,
Things of like valew differing in the Owners,

Are prized by their Masters. Beleev't deere Lord,
You mend the Jewell by the wearing it.

Tim. Well mock'd.

Enter Apermantus.

Mer. No my good Lord, he speakes the common toong
Which all men speake with him.

Tim. Looke who comes heere, will you be chid?
Jewel. Wee'l beare with your Lordship.

Mer. Hee'l spare none.

Tim. Good morrow to thee,

Gentle Apermantus.

Ape. Till I be gentle, stay thou for thy good morrow.

When thou art Timons dogge, and these Knaves honest.

Tim. Why dost thou call them Knaves, thou know'st them not.

Ape. Are they not Athenians?

Tim. Yes.

Ape. Then I repent not.

Jew. You know me, Apemantus ?

Ape. Thou know'st I do, I call'd thee by thy name.

Ape. Thou art proud Apemantus ?

Ape. Of nothing so much, as that I am not like Timon.

Tim. Whether art going?

Ape. To knocke out an honest Athenians braines.

Tim. That's a deed thou't dye for.

Ape. Right, if doing nothing be death by th’Law.
Tim. How lik'st thou this picture Apemantus ?
Ape. The best, for the innocence.

Tim. Wrought he not well that painted it.

Ape. He wrought better that made the Painter, and yet he's but a filthy peece of worke.

Pain. Y'are a Dogge.

Ape. Thy Mothers of my generation: what's she, if I be a Dogge?

Tim. Wilt dine with me Apemantus ?

Ape. No: I eate not Lords.

Tim. And thou should'st, thoud'st

Ape. O they eate Lords;

So they come by great bellies.

anger Ladies.

Tim. That's a lascivious apprehension.

Ape. So, thou apprehend'st it,

Take it for thy labour.

Tim. How dost thou like this Jewell, Apemantus?

Ape. Not so well as plain-dealing, which wil not cast a man a Doit.

Tim. What dost thou thinke 'tis worth?

Ape. Not worth my thinking.

How now Poet?

Poet. How now Philosopher?

Ape. Thou lyest.

Poet. Art not one?

Ape. Yes,

Poet. Then I lye not.

Ape. Art not a Poet?
Poet. Yes,