My dangerous nature wild. Let me behold. One honeft man,-mistake me not,-but one; Methinks, thou art more honest now, than wife; Thou might'ft have fooner got another service: If not a ufuring kindness; and as rich men deal gifts, FLAV. No, my moft worthy master, in whose breaft Doubt and fufpect, alas, are plac'd too late: You fhould have fear'd falfe times, when you did feaft: Sufpect ftill comes where an eftate is least. That which I fhow, heaven knows, is merely love, Duty and zeal to your unmatched mind, Care of your food and living: and, believe it, My moft honour'd lord, For any benefit that points to me, Either in hope, or prefent, I'd exchange For this one wifh, That you had power and wealth To requite me, by making rich yourself. TIM. Look thee, 'tis fo!-Thou fingly honeft man, Here, take the gods out of my mifery Have fent thee treafure. Go, live rich, and happy: But thus condition'd; Thou fhalt build from men ; But let the famifh'd flesh flide from the bone, Ere thou relieve the beggar: give to dogs What thou deny'ft to men; let prifons fwallow them, FLAV. O, let me stay, And comfort you, my mafter. TIM. If thou hat'st Curfes, ftay not; fly, whilft thou'rt blefs'd and free: [Exeunt feverally, ACT V. SCENE I. The fame. Before TIMON'S Cave. Enter POET and PAINTER; TIMON behind, unfeen. PAIN. As I took note of the place, it cannot be far where he abides. POET. What's to be thought of him? Does the rumour hold for true, that he is fo full of gold? PAIN. Certain Alcibiades reports it; Phrynia and Tymandra had gold of him: he likewife enrich'd poor fraggling foldiers with great quantity: 'Tis faid, he gave unto his steward a mighty fum. POET. Then this breaking of his has been but a try for his friends. PAIN. Nothing else: you fhall fee him a palm in Athens again, and flourish with the higheft. Therefore, 'tis not amifs, we tender our loves to him, in this fuppofed diftrefs of his: it will show honeftly in us; and is very likely to load our purposes with what they travel for, if it be a juft and true report that goes of his having, POET. What have you now to present unto him? PAIN. Nothing at this time but my vifitation: only I will promise him an excellent piece. POET. I must ferve him so too; tell him of an intent that's coming toward him. PAIN. Good as the beft. Promifing is the very air o' the time it opens the eyes of expectation: performance is ever the duller for his act; and, but in the plainer and fimpler kind of people, the deed of faying is quite out of ufe. To promise is most courtly and fashionable: performance is a kind of will, or teftament, which argues a great fickness in his judgement that makes it. TIM. Excellent workman! Thou canst not paint a man fo bad as is thyself, POET. I am thinking, what I shall say I have provided for him: It must be a personating of himself: a fatire against the softness of profperity; with a discovery of the infinite flatteries, that follow youth and opulency. TIM. Muft thou needs ftand for a villain in thine own work? Wilt thou whip thine own faults in other men? Do fo, I have gold for thee. POET. Nay, let's feek him: Then do we fin against our own eftate, When we may profit meet, and come too late. When the day ferves, before black-corner'd night, TIM. I'll meet you at the turn. What a god's gold, That he is worshipp'd in a bafer temple, Than where fwine feed! 'Tis thou that rigg'ft the bark, and plough'ft the foam; Settleft admired reverence in a flave: To thee be worship! and thy faints for aye Be crown'd with plagues, that thee alone obey! 'Fit I do meet them. POET. Hail, worthy Timon! PAIN. Our late noble mafter. [Advancing. TIM. Have I once liv'd to fee two honeft men? Having often of your open bounty tafted, Whofe ftar-like nobleness gave life and influence With any fize of words. TIM. Let it go naked, men may see't the better: You, that are honest, by being what you are, Make them best seen, and known. PAIN. He, and myself, Have travell'd in the great fhower of And fweetly felt it. TIM. Ay, you are honest men. your gifts, PAIN. We are hither come to offer you our fervice. Can TIM. Most honest men! Why, how fhall I requite you? you eat roots, and drink cold water? no. BOTH. What we can do, we'll do, to do you fervice. TIM. You are honest men: You have heard that I have gold; I am fure, you have: speak truth: you are honest men. PAIN. So it is faid, my noble lord: but therefore Came not my friend, nor I. TIM. Good honest men :-Thou draw'ft a counterfeit Beft in all Athens: thou art, indeed, the beft; Thou counterfeit'st most lively. PAIN. So, fo, my lord. TIM. Even fo, fir, as I fay :-And, for thy fiction, [To the POET. Why, thy verfe fwells with stuff so fine and smooth, To make it known to us. TIM. You'll take it ill. BOTH. Most thankfully, my lord. you but trufts a knave, BOTH. Doubt it not, worthy lord. BOTH. Do we, my lord? TIM. Ay, and you hear him cog, fee him diffemble, Know his grofs patchery, love him, feed him, Keep in your bofom : yet remain affur'd, That he's a made-up villain. PAIN. I know none fuch, my lord. POET. Nor I. TIM. Look well; I'll give you gold, you, I love you well; Rid me thefe villains from your companies : Hang them, or ftab them, drown them in a draught, Confound them by fome course, and come to me, I'll give you gold enough. |