I

621316

ILLUSTRATIONS.

VOL. SEVENTH.

Etched by M. Monzies, from the original Designs of M. Pille.

The Life of Tymon of Athens. Act IV., Sc. III.

The Tragedie of Julius Cæsar. Act III., Sc. I.

The Tragedie of Macbeth. Act IV., Sc. I. .

To face Title

77

157

The Tragedie of Hamlet. Act V., Sc. I.

THE LIFE OF TYMON

OF ATHENS.

Actus Primus. Scana Prima.

Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and Mercer, at severall

Poet.

Ood day Sir.

doores.

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
Hath conjur❜d to attend.

I know the Merchant.

Pain. I know them both: th'others a Jeweller.
Mer. O'tis a worthy Lord.

Jew.

Nay that's most fixt.

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

He passes.

Jew. I have a Jewell heere.

Mer. O pray let's see't. For the Lord Timon, sir?
Jewel. If he will touch the estimate. But for that--
Poet. When we for recompence have prais'd the vild,

It staines the glory in that happy Verse,

Which aptly sings the good.

Mer.

'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
Shewes not, till it be strooke: our gentle flame
Provokes it selfe, and like the current flyes
Each bound it chafes. What have you there?

Pain. A Picture sir: when comes your Booke forth?
Poet. Upon 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 Moves 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

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