Which he shall have, I'll pay the debt and free him. Mes. Your lordship ever binds him. Tim. Commend me to him, I will send his ransom; And, being enfranchiz'd, bid him come to me; 'Tis not enough to help the feeble up, But to support him after. Fare you well. Mes. All happiness to your honour! Enter an old Athenian. Old Ath. Lord Timon, hear me fpeak. Tim. Freely, good father. Old Ath. Thou hast a servant nam'd Lucilius. Tim. I have fo: what of him? [Exit. Old Ath. Most noble Timon, call the man before thee. Tim. Attends he here or no? Lucilius! Enter Lucilius. Luc. Here, at your lordship's service. [creature Old Ath. This fellow here, lord Timon, this thy By night frequents my house. I am a man Tim. Well: what further? Old Ath. One only daughter have I, no kin else, On whom I may confer what I have got: The maid is fair, o'th' youngest for a bride, And I have bred her at my dearest coft, In qualities of the best. This man of thine Attempts her love: I pray thee, noble lord, - Join with me to forbid him her refort; Myself have spoke in vain. Tim. The man is honest. Old Ath. Therefore he will be, Timon. His honesty rewards him in itself, Old Ath. She is young and apt: What What levity's in youth. Tim. Love you the maid? Luc. Ay, my good lord, and she accepts ofit. I call the Gods to witness, I will chuse Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world, Tim. How shall she be endowed, 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. Moft noble lord, Pawn me to this your honour, she is his. [mife. Tim. My hand to thine, mine honour on my proLuc. Humbly I thank your Lordship: never may That state, or fortune, fall into my keeping, [Exeunt Lucilius and old Athenian. Poet. Vouchsafe my labour, and long live your lordship! Tim. I thank you, you shall hear from me anon: Go not away. What have you there, my friend? Pain. A piece of Painting, which I do befeech Your lordship to accept. Tim. Painting is welcome. The painting is almost the natural man: Ev'n fuch as they give out. I like your Work; 'Till you hear further from me. Pain. The Gods preserve ye! [hand, Tim. Well fare you, gentleman; give me your We must needs dine together: Sir, your jewel Jew. Hath fuffer'd under praise. Jew. What, my lord? dispraise ? Tim. A mere satiety of commendations: If I should pay you for't as 'tis extoll'd, It would unclew me quite. Jew. My lord, 'tis rated As those, which fell, would give: but you well know Things of like value, differing in the owners, Are by their masters priz'd; Believe't, dear lord, You mend the jewel by the wearing it. Tim. Well mock'd. Mer. No, my good lord, he speaks the common Je tongue, Which all men speak with him. Tim. Look, who comes here. SCENE III. Enter Apemantus. Will you be chid? Jew. We'll bear it with your lordship. Mer. He'll spare none. Tim. * Good-morrow to thee gentle Apemantus! Apem. Till I be gentle, stay for thy good morrow. * * * * Apem. When thou art Timon's dog, and these knaves honest. Tim. Why doft thou call them knaves, thou know'st them not. * Tim. Good morrow to thee gentle Apemantus! Apem. Till I be gentle, stay for thy good morrow; When thou art Timon's dog and these knaves honest. The first Line of Apemantus's Answer is to the Purpose; the second abfurd and nonfenfical; which proceeds from the Loss of a Speech dropt from between them, that should be thus restored, Tim. Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus! Apem. 'Till I be gentle, stay for thy good morrow. Apem. When thou art Timon's dog, and these knaves honest. G Warb. Apem Apem. Are they not Athenians? Apem. Then I repent not. Jew. You know me, Apemantus. Apem. Thou know'st I do, I call'd thee by thy name. Tim. Thou art proud, Apemantus. Apem. Of nothing so much, as that I am not like Timon. Tim. Whither art going? Apem. To knock out an honest Athenian's brains. Apem. Right, if doing nothing be death by the law. Tim. Wrought he not well, that painted it ? and yet he's but a filthy piece of work. Paint. Y'are a dog. Apem. Thy mother's of my generation: what's she, if I be a dog? Tim. Wilt dine with me, Apemantus ? Apem. No, I eat not lords. Tim. If thou should'ft, thou'dst anger ladies. Apem. O, they eat lords; so they come by great bellies. Tim. That's a lascivious apprehenfion. Apem. So thou apprehend'st it. Take it for thy labour. Tim. How dost thou like this jewel, Apemantus? Apem. Not fo well as Plain-dealing, which will not coft a man a doit. Tim. What dost thou think 'tis worth? Apem. Not worth my thinking-How now, Poet? Poet. How now, Philofopher? Apem. Thou lieft. Poet. Art thou not one? Apem. Yes. Poet. Poet. Then I lie not. Poet. Yes. Apem. Then thou liest: look in thy last work, where thou hast feign'd him a worthy fellow. Poet. That's not feign'd, he is fo. Apem. Yes, he is worthy o' thee, and to pay thee - for thy labour. He that loves to be flattered, is worthy o' th' flatterer. Heav'ns, that I were a lord ! Tim. What would'st do then, Apemantus? Apem. Ev'n as Apemantus does now, hate a lord with my heart. Tim. What, thyself? Apem. Ay. Tim. Wherefore? Apem. * That I had fo hungry a wit, to be a lord. Art thou not a Merchant? Mer. Ay, Apemantus. Apem. Traffic confound thee, if the Gods will not! [thee! Apem. Traffic's thy God, and thy God confound Trumpets found. Enter a Meffenger. Tim. What trumpet's that? Mes. 'Tis Alcibiades, and some twenty horfe All of companionship. Tim. Pray, entertain them, give them guide to us, You must needs dine with me: go not you hence, 'Till I have thankt you, and when dinner's done, Shew me this piece. I'm joyful of your fights. Enter Alcibiades with the rest. Most welcome, Sir! [Bowing and embracing. Apem. So, fo! Aches contract, and starve, your supple joints! that there should be small love amongst * That I had no angry wit to be a lord.] This reading is absurd, and unintelligible. But, as I have restor'd the Text, it is fatirical ough of Confcience, viz. I would hate myself, for having no more wit than to covet so infignificant a Title. en G Warburton. these |