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Took her own way.-The manner of their deaths?
I do not see them bleed.

Dol. Who was last with them?

1 Guard. A simple countryman, that brought her figs; This was his basket.

Cas. Poison'd then.

1 Guard. O Cæsar,

This Charmian lived but now; she stood, and spake :
I found her trimming up the diadem

On her dead mistress; tremblingly she stood,
And on the sudden dropp'd.

Cas. O noble weakness!

If they had swallow'd poison, 'twould appear
By external swelling: but she looks like sleep,
As she would catch another Antony

In her strong toil of grace.

Dol. Here, on her breast,

There is a vent of blood, and something blown :*
The like is on her arm.

1 Guard. This is an aspic's trail: and these fig-leaves
Have slime upon them, such as the aspic leaves
Upon the caves of Nile.

Cas. Most probable,

That so she died; for her physician tells me,

She had pursued conclusions† infinite,

Of easy ways to die.-Take up her bed;

And bear her women from the monument:-
She shall be buried by her Antony:

No grave upon the earth shall clip‡ in it
A pair so famous. High events as these

Strike those that make them: and their story is
No less in pity, than his glory, which

Brought them to be lamented. Our army shall,
In solemn show, attend the funeral;

And then to Rome.-Come, Dolabella, see
High order in this great solemnity.

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SCENE I.-Athens. A Hall in TIMON's House.

Enter POET, PAINTER, JEWELLER, MERCHANT, and others, at several Doors.

Poet. Good day, Sir.

Pain. I am glad you are well.

Poet. I have not seen you long; How goes the world?
Pain. It wears, Sir, as it grows.

Poet. Ah, 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.
Pain. I know them both; t'other's a jeweller.
Mer. O, 'tis a worthy lord!

Jew. Nay, that's most fixed.

Mer. A most incomparable man; breathed,* as it were, To an untirable and continuate † goodness:

He passes. +

* Inured by constant practice.

† Continual.

Goes beyond common bounds.

Jew. I have a jewel here.

Mer. O, pray, let's see't: For the lord Timon, Sir? Jew. If he will touch the estimate:* But, for thatPoet. When we for recompense have praised the vile, It stains the glory in that happy verse

Which aptly sings the good.

Mer. "Tis a good form.

[Looking at the jewel.

Jew. And rich: here is a water, look you.

Pain. You are apt, Sir, in some work, some dedication

To the great lord.

Poet. A thing slipp'd idly from me.

Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes

From whence 'tis nourished: 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?

Pain. A picture, Sir.-And when comes your book forth?
Poet. Upon the heels of my presentment, Sir,

Let's see your piece.

Pain. Tis a good piece.

Poet. So 'tis this comes off well and excellent.
Pain. Indifferent.

Poet. 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.

Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life.

Here is a touch; Is't good?

Poet. I'll say of it,

It tutors nature: artificial strife §

Lives in these touches, livelier than life.

Enter certain SENATORS, and pass over.

Pain. How this lord's follow'd!

Poet. The senators of Athens :-Happy men!

Pain. Look, more!

Poet. 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: T 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.

Pain. How shall I understand you?

Poet. I'll unbolt ** to you.

* Give the price.

+ Reading his poem.

As soon as my book has been presented to Timon.

I. e. the contest of art with nature.

Does not stop at any particular character.

Anciently they wrote upon wax tablets with an iron pen. **Explain.

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.

Pain. I saw them speak together.

Poet. 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.

Pain. "Tis conceived to scope.

This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks,
With one man bekon'd from the rest below,
Bowing his head against the steepy mount
To climb his happiness, would be well express'd
In our condition.

Poet. 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.

Pain. Ay, marry, what of these?

Poet. 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.

Pain. "Tis common:

A thousand moral paintings I can show

That shall demonstrate these quick blows of fortune
More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well,
To show lord Timon, that mean eyes have seen

The foot above the head.

Trumpets sound. Enter TIMON, attended; the SERVANT of VENTIDIUS talking with him.

Tim. Imprison'd is he, say you ?

* One who shows by reflection the looks of his patron.

+ Crowded with people of all classes of merit.

To advance their condition of life.

Ven. Serv. 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 to him,
Periods his comfort.

Tim. 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.
Ven. Serv. Your lordship ever binds him.

Tim. 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.
Ven. Serv. All happiness to your honour!

Enter an old ATHENIAN.

Old Ath. Lord Timon, hear me speak.

Tim. Freely, good father.

Old Ath. Thou hast a servant named Lucilius.

Tim. I have so: What of him?

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.

Old Ath. 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.

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' 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 pr'ythee, noble lord,
Join with me to forbid him her resort;
Myself have spoke in vain.

Tim. The man is honest.

Old Ath. Therefore he will be, Timon:

His honesty rewards him in itself,

It must not bear my daughter.
Tim. Does she love him?

Old Ath. She is young, and apt:

Our own precedent passions do instruct us

What levity's in youth.

Tim. [to LUCILIUS]. Love you the maid?

Luc. Ay, my good lord, and she accepts of it.

Old Ath. If in her marriage my consent be missing, I call the gods to witness, I will choose

Exit,

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