The Life of Timon of Athens

Enter Poet, Painter, Ieweller, Merchant, and Mercer, at seueralldoores.

Poet. Good day Sir

Pain. I am glad y'are well

   Poet. I haue not seene you long, how goes
the World?
  Pain. It weares sir, as it growes

   Poet. I that's well knowne:
But what particular Rarity? What strange,
Which manifold record not matches: see
Magicke of Bounty, all these spirits thy power
Hath coniur'd to attend.
I know the Merchant

Pain. I know them both: th' others a Ieweller

Mer. O 'tis a worthy Lord

Iew. Nay that's most fixt

   Mer. A most incomparable man, breath'd as it were,
To an vntyreable and continuate goodnesse:
He passes

Iew. I haue a Iewell heere

   Mer. O pray let's see't. For the Lord Timon, sir?
  Iewel. If he will touch the estimate. But for that-
  Poet. When we for recompence haue prais'd the vild,
It staines the glory in that happy Verse,
Which aptly sings the good

Mer. 'Tis a good forme

Iewel. And rich: heere is a Water looke ye

   Pain. You are rapt sir, in some worke, some Dedication
to the great Lord

   Poet. A thing slipt idlely from me.
Our Poesie is as a Gowne, which vses
From whence 'tis nourisht: the fire i'th' Flint
Shewes not, till it be strooke: our gentle flame
Prouokes it selfe, and like the currant flyes
Each bound it chases. What haue you there?
  Pain. A Picture sir: when comes your Booke forth?
  Poet. Vpon the heeles of my presentment sir.
Let's see your peece

Pain. 'Tis a good Peece

Poet. So 'tis, this comes off well, and excellent

Pain. Indifferent

   Poet. Admirable: How this grace
Speakes his owne standing: what a mentall power
This eye shootes forth? How bigge imagination
Moues in this Lip, to th' dumbnesse of the gesture,
One might interpret

   Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life:
Heere is a touch: Is't good?
  Poet. I will say of it,
It Tutors Nature, Artificiall strife
Liues in these toutches, liuelier then life.
Enter certaine Senators.

Pain. How this Lord is followed

Poet. The Senators of Athens, happy men

Pain. Looke moe

   Po. You see this confluence, this great flood of visitors,
I haue in this rough worke, shap'd out a man
Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hugge
With amplest entertainment: My free drift
Halts not particularly, but moues it selfe
In a wide Sea of wax, no leuell'd malice
Infects one comma in the course I hold,
But flies an Eagle flight, bold, and forth on,
Leauing no Tract behinde

   Pain. How shall I vnderstand you?
  Poet. I will vnboult to you.
You see how all Conditions, how all Mindes,
As well of glib and slipp'ry Creatures, as
Of Graue and austere qualitie, tender downe
Their seruices to Lord Timon: his large Fortune,
Vpon his good and gracious Nature hanging,
Subdues and properties to his loue and tendance
All sorts of hearts; yea, from the glasse-fac'd Flatterer
To Apemantus, that few things loues better
Then to abhorre himselfe; euen hee drops downe
The knee before him, and returnes in peace...