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THE LIFE OF TYMON
Actus Primus. Scana Prima.
Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and Mercer, at severall
Ood day Sir.
Pain. I am glad y'are well.
Poet. I have 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
I know the Merchant.
Pain. I know them both: th'others a Jeweller.
Nay that's most fixt.
Mer. A most incomparable man, breath'd as it were, To an untyreable and continuate goodnesse :
Jew. I have a Jewell heere.
Mer. O pray let's see't. For the Lord Timon, sir?
It staines the glory in that happy Verse,
Which aptly sings the good.
'Tis a good forme.
Jewel. 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 uses
From whence 'tis nourisht: the fire i'th Flint
Pain. A Picture sir: when comes your Booke forth?
Poet. So 'tis, this comes off well, and excellent.
Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life:
I will say of it,
It Tutors Nature, Artificiall strife
Lives in these touches, livelier 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 have in this rough worke, shap'd out a man
Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hugge
But flies an Eagle flight, bold, and forth on,
Pain. How shall I understand you?
I will unboult to you.
You see how all Conditions, how all Mindes,
All sorts of hearts; yea, from the glasse-fac'd Flatterer
To Apemantus, that few things loves better
Then to abhorre himselfe; even hee drops downe
Most rich in Timons nod.
I saw them speake together.
Poet. Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill Feign'd Fortune to be thron'd.
The Base o'th'Mount
Is rank'd with all deserts, all kinde of Natures
'Tis conceyv'd, to scope This Throne, this Fortune, and this Hill me thinkes With one man becken'd from the rest below,