Timon Of Athens

Ay, that’s well known:
But what particular rarity? what strange,
Which manifold record not matches? See,
Magic of bounty! all these spirits thy power
Hath conjured to attend. I know the merchant.

A most incomparable man, breathed, as it were,
To an untirable and continuate goodness:
He passes.

Reciting to himself. “When we for recompense have praised the vile,
It stains the glory in that happy verse
Which aptly sings the good.”

You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedication
To the great lord.

A thing slipp’d idly from me.
Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes
From whence ’tis nourish’d: the fire i’ the flint
Shows not till it be struck; our gentle flame
Provokes itself and like the current flies
Each bound it chafes. What have you there?

Upon the heels of my presentment, sir.
Let’s see your piece.

Admirable: how this grace
Speaks his own standing! what a mental power
This eye shoots forth! how big imagination
Moves in this lip! to the dumbness of the gesture
One might interpret.

It is a pretty mocking of the life.
Here is a touch; is’t good?

I will say of it,
It tutors nature: artificial strife
Lives in these touches, livelier than life.

You see this confluence, this great flood of visitors.
I have, in this rough work, shaped out a man,
Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug
With amplest entertainment: my free drift
Halts not particularly, but moves itself
In a wide sea of wax: no levell’d malice
Infects one comma in the course I hold;
But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on,
Leaving no tract behind.

I will unbolt to you.
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-faced flatterer
To Apemantus, that few things loves better
Than to abhor himself: even he drops down
The knee before him, and returns in peace
Most rich in Timon’s nod.

Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill
Feign’d Fortune to be throned: 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.

’Tis conceived to scope.
This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks,
With one man beckon’d from the rest below,
Bowing his head against the sleepy mount
To climb his happiness, would be well express’d
In our condition.

Nay, sir, but hear me on.
All those which were his fellows but of late,
Some better than his value, on the moment
Follow his strides, his lobbies fill with tendance,
Rain sacrificial whisperings in his ear,
Make sacred even his stirrup, and through him
Drink the free air.

When Fortune in her shift and change of mood
Spurns down her late beloved, 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.

’Tis common:
A thousand moral paintings I can show
That shall demonstrate these quick blows of Fortune’s
More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well
To show Lord Timon that mean eyes have seen
The foot above the head.

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,
Periods his comfort.

Noble Ventidius! Well;
I am not of that feather to shake off
My friend when he must need me. I do know him
A gentleman that well deserves a help:
Which he shall have: I’ll pay the debt, and free him.

Commend me to him: I will send his ransom;
And being enfranchised, bid him come to me.
’Tis not enough to help the feeble up,
But to support him after. Fare you well.

This fellow here, Lord Timon, this thy creature,
By night frequents my house. I am a man
That from my first have been inclined to thrift;
And my estate deserves an heir more raised
Than one which holds a trencher.

One only daughter have I, no kin else,
On whom I may confer what I have got:
The maid is fair, o’ the youngest for a bride,
And I have bred her at my dearest cost
In qualities of the best. This man of thine
Attempts her love: I prithee, noble lord,
Join with me to forbid him her resort;
Myself have spoke in vain.

Therefore he will be, Timon:
His honesty rewards him in itself;
It must not bear my daughter.

She is young and apt:
Our own precedent passions do instruct us
What levity’s in youth.

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.

How shall she be endow’d,
If she be mated with an equal husband?

This gentleman of mine hath served 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.

Most noble lord,
Pawn me to this your honour, she is his.

Humbly I thank your lordship: never may
The state or fortune fall into my keeping,
Which is not owed to you! Exeunt Lucilius and Old Athenian.

I thank you; you shall hear from me anon:
Go not away. What have you there, my friend?

A piece of painting, which I do beseech
Your lordship to accept.

Painting is welcome.
The painting is almost the natural man;
For since dishonour traffics with man’s nature,
He is but outside: these pencill’d figures are
Even such as they give out. I like your work;
And you shall find I like it: wait attendance
Till you hear further from me.

Well fare you, gentleman: give me your hand;
We must needs dine together. Sir, your jewel
Hath suffer’d under praise.

A more satiety of commendations.
If I should pay you for’t as ’tis extoll’d,
It would unclew me quite.

My lord, ’tis rated
As those which sell would give: but you well know,
Things of like value differing in the owners
Are prized by their masters: believe’t, dear lord,
You mend the jewel by the wearing it.

No, my good lord; he speaks the common tongue,
Which all men speak with him.

Till I be gentle, stay thou for thy good morrow;
When thou art Timon’s dog, and these knaves honest.

’Tis Alcibiades, and some twenty horse,
All of companionship.

Pray, entertain them; give them guide to us. Exeunt some Attendants.
You must needs dine with me: go not you hence
Till I have thank’d you: when dinner’s done,
Show me this piece. I am joyful of your sights.

So, so, there!
Aches contract and starve your supple joints!
That there should be small love ’mongst these sweet knaves,
And all this courtesy! The strain of man’s bred out
Into baboon and monkey.

Sir, you have saved my longing, and I feed
Most hungerly on your sight.

Right welcome, sir!
Ere we depart, we’ll share a bounteous time
In different pleasures. Pray you, let us in. Exeunt all except Apemantus.

He’s opposite to humanity. Come, shall we in,
And taste Lord Timon’s bounty? he outgoes
The very heart of kindness.

He pours it out; Plutus, the god of gold,
Is but his steward: no meed, but he repays
Sevenfold above itself; no gift to him,
But breeds the giver a return exceeding
All use of quittance.

The noblest mind he carries
That ever govern’d man.

Most honour’d Timon,
It hath pleased the gods to remember my father’s age,
And call him to long peace.
He is gone happy, and has left me rich:
Then, as in grateful virtue I am bound
To your free heart, I do return those talents,
Doubled with thanks and service, from whose help
I derived liberty.

O, by no means,
Honest Ventidius; you mistake my love:
I gave it freely ever; and there’s none
Can truly say he gives, if he receives:
If our betters play at that game, we must not dare
To imitate them; faults that are rich are fair.

Nay, my lords, They all stand ceremoniously looking on Timon.
Ceremony was but devised at first
To set a gloss on faint deeds, hollow welcomes,
Recanting goodness, sorry ere ’tis shown;
But where there is true friendship, there needs none.
Pray, sit; more welcome are ye to my fortunes
Than my fortunes to me. They sit.

No;
You shall not make me welcome:
I come to have thee thrust me out of doors.

They say, my lords, “ira furor brevis est;” but yond man is ever angry. Go, let him have a table by himself, for he does neither affect company, nor is he fit for’t, indeed.

I scorn thy meat; ’twould choke me, for I should ne’er flatter thee. O you gods, what a number of men eat Timon, and he sees ’em not! It grieves me to see so many dip their meat in one man’s blood; and all the madness is, he cheers them up too.

There’s much example for’t; the fellow that sits next him now, parts bread with him, pledges the breath of him in a divided draught, is the readiest man to kill him: ’t has been proved. If I were a huge man, I should fear to drink at meals;

Flow this way! A brave fellow! he keeps his tides well. Those healths will make thee and thy state look ill, Timon. Here’s that which is too weak to be a sinner, honest water, which ne’er left man i’ the mire:

Immortal gods, I crave no pelf;
I pray for no man but myself:
Grant I may never prove so fond,
To trust man on his oath or bond;
Or a harlot, for her weeping;
Or a dog, that seems a-sleeping:
Or a keeper with my freedom;
Or my friends, if I should need ’em.
Amen. So fall to’t:
Rich men sin, and I eat root. Eats and drinks.

Joy had the like conception in our eyes
And at that instant like a babe sprung up.

Hail to thee, worthy Timon, and to all
That of his bounties taste! The five best senses
Acknowledge thee their patron; and come freely
To gratulate thy plenteous bosom: th’ ear,
Taste, touch and smell, pleased from thy tale rise;
They only now come but to feast thine eyes.

They’re welcome all; let ’em have kind admittance:
Music, make their welcome! Exit Cupid.

Hoy-day, what a sweep of vanity comes this way!
They dance! they are mad women.
Like madness is the glory of this life.
As this pomp shows to a little oil and root.
We make ourselves fools, to disport ourselves;
And spend our flatteries, to drink those men
Upon whose age we void it up again,
With poisonous spite and envy.
Who lives that’s not depraved or depraves?
Who dies, that bears not one spurn to their graves
Of their friends’ gift?
I should fear those that dance before me now
Would one day stamp upon me: ’t has been done;
Men shut their doors against a setting sun.

You have done our pleasures much grace, fair ladies,
Set a fair fashion on our entertainment,
Which was not half so beautiful and kind;
You have added worth unto ’t and lustre,
And entertain’d me with mine own device;
I am to thank you for ’t.

Ladies, there is an idle banquet attends you:
Please you to dispose yourselves.

Yes, my lord. More jewels yet! Aside.
There is no crossing him in’s humour;
Else I should tell him⁠—well, i’ faith I should,
When all’s spent, he’ld be cross’d then, an he could.
’Tis pity bounty had not eyes behind,
That man might ne’er be wretched for his mind. Exit.

O my friends,
I have one word to say to you: look you, my good lord,
I must entreat you, honour me so much
As to advance this jewel; accept it and wear it,
Kind my lord.

My lord, there are certain nobles of the senate
Newly alighted, and come to visit you.

I beseech your honour,
Vouchsafe me a word; it does concern you near.

Near! why then, another time I’ll hear thee:
I prithee, let’s be provided to show them entertainment.

May it please your honour, Lord Lucius,
Out of his free love, hath presented to you
Four milk-white horses, trapp’d in silver.

I shall accept them fairly; let the presents
Be worthily entertain’d.

I’ll hunt with him; and let them be received,
Not without fair reward.

Aside. What will this come to?
He commands us to provide, and give great gifts,
And all out of an empty coffer:
Nor will he know his purse, or yield me this,
To show him what a beggar his heart is,
Being of no power to make his wishes good:
His promises fly so beyond his state
That what he speaks is all in debt; he owes
For every word: he is so kind that he now
Pays interest for’t; his land’s put to their books.
Well, would I were gently put out of office
Before I were forced out!
Happier is he that has no friend to feed
Than such that do e’en enemies exceed.
I bleed inwardly for my lord. Exit.

You do yourselves
Much wrong, you bate too much of your own merits:
Here, my lord, a trifle of our love.

And now I remember, my lord, you gave
Good words the other day of a bay courser
I rode on: it is yours, because you liked it.

You may take my word, my lord; I know, no man
Can justly praise but what he does affect:
I weigh my friend’s affection with mine own;
I’ll tell you true. I’ll call to you.

I take all and your several visitations
So kind to heart, ’tis not enough to give;
Methinks, I could deal kingdoms to my friends,
And ne’er be weary. Alcibiades,
Thou art a soldier, therefore seldom rich;
It comes in charity to thee: for all thy living
Is ’mongst the dead, and all the lands thou hast
Lie in a pitch’d field.

And so
Am I to you.

The best of happiness,
Honour and fortunes, keep with you, Lord Timon!

What a coil’s here!
Serving of becks and jutting-out of bums!
I doubt whether their legs be worth the sums
That are given for ’em. Friendship’s full of dregs:
Methinks, false hearts should never have sound legs,
Thus honest fools lay out their wealth on court’sies.

Now, Apemantus, if thou wert not sullen,
I would be good to thee.

So:
Thou wilt not hear me now; thou shalt not then:
I’ll lock thy heaven from thee.
O, that men’s ears should be
To counsel deaf, but not to flattery. Exit.