Rivers delin

Timon of Athens.

Act V Scene I

Ridley foudp

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 ftraggling 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 shall see him a palm in Athens again, and flourish with the highest. Therefore it is not amifs, we tender our loves to him, in this fuppofed diftrefs of his it will fhow honeftly in us; and is very likely to load our purposes with what they travel for, if it be a just and true report that goes of his having.

Poet. What have you now to prefent unto him?

Pain. Nothing at this time but my visitation: only I will promife him an excellent piece.

Poet. I muft ferve him fo too; tell him of an intent that's coming toward him.

Pain. Good as the best. Promising 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 simpler kind of people, the deed of faying is quite out of use. To promife is most courtly and fashion

able:

able: 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 foftness of profperity; with a difcovery of the infinite flatteries, that follow youth and opulency.

Tim. Must 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.

Pain. True;

When the day serves, before black-corner'd night,
Find what thou want'ft by free and offer'd light.
Come.

Tim. I'll meet you at the turn. What a god's gold, That he is worshipp'd in a bafer temple,

Than where swine feed!

'Tis thou that rigg'ft the bark, and plough'ft the foam; Settleft admired reverence in a slave:

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.

[Advancing.

Our late noble mafter.

Tim. Have I once liv'd to fee two honeft men?
Poet. Sir,

Having often of your open bounty tasted,
Hearing you were retir'd, your friends fall'n off,
Whofe thankless natures-O abhorred spirits!
Not all the whips of heaven are large enough—

What!

Tim.

Ay, you are honest m Pain. We are hither come to offer you Tim. Moft honeft men! Why, how fhal Can you eat roots, and drink cold water?

Both. What we can do, we'll do, to do
Tim. You are honest men: You have h

gold;

I am fure, you have: speak truth: you a Pain. So it is faid, my noble lord: but Came not my friend, nor I.

Tim. Good honest men :-Thou draw's Best in all Athens: thou art, indeed, the Thou counterfeit'st most lively.

Pain.

So, fo, my Tim. Even fo, fir, as I say :-And, for t

Why, thy verse fwells with ftuff fo fine and That thou art even natural in thine art.But, for all this, my honeft-natur'd friend I must needs fay, you have a little fault : Marry, 'tis not monftrous in you; neither You take much pains to mend.

I

Both.

Befeech your honour,

To make it known to us.

Tim.

You'll take it ill.

Will you, indeed

Both. Moft thankfully, my lord.
Tim.

Both. Doubt it not, worthy lord.

Tim. There's ne'er a one of you but trusts a knave, That mightily deceives you.

Both.

Do we, my lord?

Tim. Ay, and you hear him cog, see him diffemble, Know his grofs patchery, love him, feed him,

Keep in your bofom: yet remain assur'd,

That he's a made-up villain.

Pain. I know none fuch, my lord.

Poet.

Nor I.

Tim. Look you, I love you well; I'll give you gold, Rid me thefe villains from your companies :

Hang them, or stab them, drown them in a draught,
Confound them by fome course, and come to me,
I'll give you gold enough.

Both. Name them, my lord, let's know them.

Tim. You that way, and you this, but two in com

pany:

Each man apart, all fingle and alone,

Yet an arch-villain keeps him company.

If, where thou art, two villains shall not be,

[To the Painter.

Come not near him.-If thou would'ft not refide

[To the Poet.

But where one villain is, then him abandon.-
Hence! pack! there's gold, ye came for gold, ye flaves:
You have done work for me, there's payment: Hence!
You are an alchymist, make gold of that :-

Out, rafcal dogs!

[Exit, beating and driving them out.

SCENE