CENTRAL 95820 Dramatis Perfonæ. TIMON, A noble Athenian. Hortenfius, Ventidius, one of Timon's falfe Friends. Phrynia, Timandra, Mißtreffes to Alcibiades. Thieves, Senators, Poet, Painter, Feweller, Mercer and Merchant; with divers fervants and attendants. SCENE, Athens; and the Woods not far from it. TIMON of ATHENS. ACTI. SCENE, A Hall in Timon's House. Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and Mercer, at feveral doors. POET. OOD day, Sir. Pain. I am glad y' are well! Poet. I have not feen you long; haw goes the world? Pain. It wears, Sir, as it goes. But what particular rarity what fo- ftrange, Few. Nay, that's most fixt. Mer. A moft incomparable man, breath'd as it were To an untirable and continuate goodness. He paffes Jew. I have a jewel here. Mer Mer. O, pray, let's fee't: For the lord Timon, Sir? Few. If he will touch the estimate: but for that Poet. When we for recompence have prais'd the vile, It ftains the glory in that happy verse Which aptly fings the good. Mer. "Tis a good form. [Looking on the jewel. Few. And rich; here is a water, look ye. Pain. You're rapt, Sir, in fome Work, fome dedica tion To the great lord. Poet. A thing flipt idly from me. Our Poefie is as a Gum, which iffues From whence 'tis nourished. The fire i'th' flint Provokes it felf, and like the current flies Each Bound it chafes. What have you there? (1) Pain. 'Tis a good piece. Poet. So 'tis, This comes off well and excellent. Pain. Indiff'rent. Poet. Admirable! how this grace Speaks his own standing? what a mental power Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life: Poet. I'll fay of it, It tutors Nature; artificial ftrife Lives in those touches, livelier than life. (1) Each Bound it chafes.---] How, cbafes? The Flood, indeed, beating up upon the Shore, covers a Part of it, but cannot be faid to drive the Shore away. The Poet's Allufion is to a Wave, which, foaming and chafing on the Shore, breaks; and then the Water feems to the Eye to retire. Enter Enter certain Senators. Pain. How this lord is followed! Poet. The Senators of Athens! happy man! (2) Poet. You fee this confluence, this great flood of vifiters, Pain. How fhall I understand you? You fee, how all conditions, how all minds, Of Than to abhor himself; ev'n he drops down Pain. I faw them fpeak together. peace Poet. I have upon a high and pleasant hill (2) Happy Men !] Thus the printed Copies: but I cannot think the Poet meant, that the Senators were happy in being admitted to Timon; their Quality might command That: but that Timon was happy in being follow'd, and carefs'd, by those of their Rank and Dignity. One One do I perfonate of Timon's frame, Whom Fortune with her iv'ry hand wafts, to her, Pain. "Tis conceiv'd to th' Scope. (3) This throne, this Fortune, and this Hill, methinks, To climb his happinefs, would be well expreft Poet. Nay, but hear me on: All those which were his fellows but of late, Make facred even his, ftirrop; and through him Pain. Ay, marry, what of these? Poet. When Fortune in her fhift and change of mood A thousand moral Paintings I can fhew, That shall demonftrate thefe quick blows of fortune (3) 'Tis conceiv'd, to Scope This Throne, this Fortune, &c.] Thus all the Editors hitherto have nonfenfically writ, and pointed, this Paffage But, fure, the Painter would tell the Poet, your Conception, Sir, hits the very Scope you aim at. This the Greeks would have render'd, anorê ruxês, recà ad Scopum tendis; and Cicero has thus exprefs'd on the like Occafion, Signum, oculis deftinatum feris, Trumpets 1/ |