Timon of Athens by William Shakespeare

Act 1 - Scene 1

Athens. A hall in Timon’s house.

Poet : Good day, sir.

Painter : I am glad you're well.

Poet : I have not seen you long: how goes the world?

Painter : It wears, sir, as it grows.

Poet : Ay, that's well known: [p]But what particular rarity? what
strange, [p]Which manifold record not matches? See, [p]Magic of
bounty! all these spirits thy power [p]Hath conjured to attend. I know
the merchant.

Painter : I know them both; th' other's a jeweller.

Merchant : O, 'tis a worthy lord.

Jeweller : Nay, that's most fix'd.

Merchant : A most incomparable man, breathed, as it were, [p]To an untirable and
continuate goodness: [p]He passes.

Merchant : O, pray, let's see't: for the Lord Timon, sir?

Poet : [Reciting to himself] 'When we for recompense have [p]praised the
vile, [p]It stains the glory in that happy verse [p]Which aptly sings
the good.'

Merchant : 'Tis a good form.

Jeweller : And rich: here is a water, look ye.

Painter : You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedication [p]To the great
lord.

Poet : A thing slipp'd idly from me. [p]Our poesy is as a gum, which
oozes [p]From whence 'tis nourish'd: the fire i' the flint [p]Shows
not till it be struck; our gentle flame [p]Provokes itself and like
the current flies [p]Each bound it chafes. What have you there?

Painter : A picture, sir. When comes your book forth?

Poet : Upon the heels of my presentment, sir. [p]Let's see your piece.

Painter : 'Tis a good piece.

Poet : So 'tis: this comes off well and excellent.

Painter : Indifferent.

Poet : Admirable: how this grace [p]Speaks his own standing! what a mental
power [p]This eye shoots forth! how big imagination [p]Moves in this
lip! to the dumbness of the gesture [p]One might interpret.

Painter : It is a pretty mocking of the life. [p]Here is a touch; is't good?

Poet : I will say of it, [p]It tutors nature: artificial strife [p]Lives in
these touches, livelier than life.

Painter : How this lord is follow'd!

Poet : The senators of Athens: happy man!

Painter : Look, more!

Poet : You see this confluence, this great flood [p]of visitors. [p]I have,
in this rough work, shaped out a man, [p]Whom this beneath world doth
embrace and hug [p]With amplest entertainment: my free drift [p]Halts
not particularly, but moves itself [p]In a wide sea of wax: no
levell'd malice [p]Infects one comma in the course I hold; [p]But
flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on, [p]Leaving no tract behind.

Painter : How shall I understand you?

Poet : I will unbolt to you. [p]You see how all conditions, how all
minds, [p]As well of glib and slippery creatures as [p]Of grave and
austere quality, tender down [p]Their services to Lord Timon: his
large fortune [p]Upon his good and gracious nature hanging [p]Subdues
and properties to his love and tendance [p]All sorts of hearts; yea,
from the glass-faced flatterer [p]To Apemantus, that few things loves
better [p]Than to abhor himself: even he drops down [p]The knee before
him, and returns in peace [p]Most rich in Timon's nod.

Painter : I saw them speak together.

Poet : Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill [p]Feign'd Fortune to be
throned: the base o' the mount [p]Is rank'd with all deserts, all kind
of natures, [p]That labour on the bosom of this sphere [p]To propagate
their states: amongst them all, [p]Whose eyes are on this sovereign
lady fix'd, [p]One do I personate of Lord Timon's frame, [p]Whom
Fortune with her ivory hand wafts to her; [p]Whose present grace to
present slaves and servants [p]Translates his rivals.

Painter : 'Tis conceived to scope. [p]This throne, this Fortune, and this hill,
methinks, [p]With one man beckon'd from the rest below, [p]Bowing his
head against the sleepy mount [p]To climb his happiness, would be well
express'd [p]In our condition.

Poet : Nay, sir, but hear me on. [p]All those which were his fellows but of
late, [p]Some better than his value, on the moment [p]Follow his
strides, his lobbies fill with tendance, [p]Rain sacrificial
whisperings in his ear, [p]Make sacred even his stirrup, and through
him [p]Drink the free air.

Painter : Ay, marry, what of these?

Poet : When Fortune in her shift and change of mood [p]Spurns down her late
beloved, all his dependants [p]Which labour'd after him to the
mountain's top [p]Even on their knees and hands, let him slip
down, [p]Not one accompanying his declining foot.

Painter : 'Tis common: [p]A thousand moral paintings I can show [p]That shall
demonstrate these quick blows of Fortune's [p]More pregnantly than
words. Yet you do well [p]To show Lord Timon that mean eyes have
seen [p]The foot above the head. [p][Trumpets sound. Enter TIMON,
addressing himself] [p]courteously to every suitor; a Messenger
from [p]VENTIDIUS talking with him; LUCILIUS and other [p]servants
following]

Timon : Imprison'd is he, say you?

Messenger : Ay, my good lord: five talents is his debt, [p]His means most short,
his creditors most strait: [p]Your honourable letter he desires [p]To
those have shut him up; which failing, [p]Periods his comfort.

Timon : Noble Ventidius! Well; [p]I am not of that feather to shake off [p]My
friend when he must need me. I do know him [p]A gentleman that well
deserves a help: [p]Which he shall have: I'll pay the debt, [p]and
free him.

Messenger : Your lordship ever binds him.

Timon : Commend me to him: I will send his ransom; [p]And being enfranchised,
bid him come to me. [p]'Tis not enough to help the feeble up, [p]But
to support him after. Fare you well.

Messenger : All happiness to your honour!

Old Athenian : Lord Timon, hear me speak.

Timon : Freely, good father.

Old Athenian : Thou hast a servant named Lucilius.

Timon : I have so: what of him?

Old Athenian : Most noble Timon, call the man before thee.

Timon : Attends he here, or no? Lucilius!

Lucilius : Here, at your lordship's service.

Old Athenian : This fellow here, Lord Timon, this thy creature, [p]By night frequents
my house. I am a man [p]That from my first have been inclined to
thrift; [p]And my estate deserves an heir more raised [p]Than one
which holds a trencher.

Timon : Well; what further?

Old Athenian : One only daughter have I, no kin else, [p]On whom I may confer what I
have got: [p]The maid is fair, o' the youngest for a bride, [p]And I
have bred her at my dearest cost [p]In qualities of the best. This man
of thine [p]Attempts her love: I prithee, noble lord, [p]Join with me
to forbid him her resort; [p]Myself have spoke in vain.

Timon : The man is honest.

Old Athenian : Therefore he will be, Timon: [p]His honesty rewards him in
itself; [p]It must not bear my daughter.

Timon : Does she love him?

Old Athenian : She is young and apt: [p]Our own precedent passions do instruct
us [p]What levity's in youth.

Timon : [To LUCILIUS] Love you the maid?

Lucilius : Ay, my good lord, and she accepts of it.

Old Athenian : If in her marriage my consent be missing, [p]I call the gods to
witness, I will choose [p]Mine heir from forth the beggars of the
world, [p]And dispossess her all.

Timon : How shall she be endow'd, [p]if she be mated with an equal husband?

Old Athenian : Three talents on the present; in future, all.

Timon : This gentleman of mine hath served me long: [p]To build his fortune I
will strain a little, [p]For 'tis a bond in men. Give him thy
daughter: [p]What you bestow, in him I'll counterpoise, [p]And make
him weigh with her.

Old Athenian : Most noble lord, [p]Pawn me to this your honour, she is his.

Timon : My hand to thee; mine honour on my promise.

Lucilius : Humbly I thank your lordship: never may [p]The state or fortune fall
into my keeping, [p]Which is not owed to you!

Poet : Vouchsafe my labour, and long live your lordship!

Timon : I thank you; you shall hear from me anon: [p]Go not away. What have
you there, my friend?

Painter : A piece of painting, which I do beseech [p]Your lordship to accept.

Timon : Painting is welcome. [p]The painting is almost the natural man; [p]or
since dishonour traffics with man's nature, [p]He is but outside:
these pencill'd figures are [p]Even such as they give out. I like your
work; [p]And you shall find I like it: wait attendance [p]Till you
hear further from me.

Painter : The gods preserve ye!

Timon : Well fare you, gentleman: give me your hand; [p]We must needs dine
together. Sir, your jewel [p]Hath suffer'd under praise.

Jeweller : What, my lord! dispraise?

Timon : A more satiety of commendations. [p]If I should pay you for't as 'tis
extoll'd, [p]It would unclew me quite.

Jeweller : My lord, 'tis rated [p]As those which sell would give: but you well
know, [p]Things of like value differing in the owners [p]Are prized by
their masters: believe't, dear lord, [p]You mend the jewel by the
wearing it.

Timon : Well mock'd.

Merchant : No, my good lord; he speaks the common tongue, [p]Which all men speak
with him.

Timon : Look, who comes here: will you be chid?

Merchant : He'll spare none.

Timon : Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus!

Apemantus : Till I be gentle, stay thou for thy good morrow; [p]When thou art
Timon's dog, and these knaves honest.

Timon : Why dost thou call them knaves? thou know'st them not.

Apemantus : Are they not Athenians?

Timon : Yes.

Apemantus : Then I repent not.

Apemantus : Thou know'st I do: I call'd thee by thy name.

Timon : Thou art proud, Apemantus.

Apemantus : Of nothing so much as that I am not like Timon.

Timon : Whither art going?

Apemantus : To knock out an honest Athenian's brains.

Timon : That's a deed thou'lt die for.

Apemantus : Right, if doing nothing be death by the law.

Timon : How likest thou this picture, Apemantus?

Apemantus : The best, for the innocence.

Timon : Wrought he not well that painted it?

Apemantus : He wrought better that made the painter; and yet [p]he's but a filthy
piece of work.

Painter : You're a dog.

Apemantus : Thy mother's of my generation: what's she, if I be a dog?

Timon : Wilt dine with me, Apemantus?

Apemantus : No; I eat not lords.

Timon : An thou shouldst, thou 'ldst anger ladies.

Apemantus : O, they eat lords; so they come by great bellies.

Timon : That's a lascivious apprehension.

Apemantus : So thou apprehendest it: take it for thy labour.

Timon : How dost thou like this jewel, Apemantus?

Apemantus : Not so well as plain-dealing, which will not cost a [p]man a doit.

Timon : What dost thou think 'tis worth?

Apemantus : Not worth my thinking. How now, poet!

Poet : How now, philosopher!

Apemantus : Thou liest.

Poet : Art not one?

Apemantus : Yes.

Poet : Then I lie not.

Apemantus : Art not a poet?

Poet : Yes.

Apemantus : Then thou liest: look in thy last work, where thou [p]hast feigned him
a worthy fellow.

Poet : That's not feigned; he is so.

Apemantus : Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay thee for thy [p]labour: he that
loves to be flattered is worthy o' [p]the flatterer. Heavens, that I
were a lord!

Timon : What wouldst do then, Apemantus?

Apemantus : E'en as Apemantus does now; hate a lord with my heart.

Timon : What, thyself?

Apemantus : Ay.

Timon : Wherefore?

Apemantus : That I had no angry wit to be a lord. [p]Art not thou a merchant?

Merchant : Ay, Apemantus.

Apemantus : Traffic confound thee, if the gods will not!

Merchant : If traffic do it, the gods do it.

Apemantus : Traffic's thy god; and thy god confound thee!

Timon : What trumpet's that?

Messenger : 'Tis Alcibiades, and some twenty horse, [p]All of companionship.

Timon : Pray, entertain them; give them guide to us. [p][Exeunt some
Attendants] [p]You must needs dine with me: go not you hence [p]Till I
have thank'd you: when dinner's done, [p]Show me this piece. I am
joyful of your sights. [p][Enter ALCIBIADES, with the rest] [p]Most
welcome, sir!

Apemantus : So, so, there! [p]Aches contract and starve your supple
joints! [p]That there should be small love 'mongst these [p]sweet
knaves, [p]And all this courtesy! The strain of man's bred out [p]Into
baboon and monkey.

Alcibiades : Sir, you have saved my longing, and I feed [p]Most hungerly on your
sight.

Timon : Right welcome, sir! [p]Ere we depart, we'll share a bounteous
time [p]In different pleasures. Pray you, let us in.

First Lord : What time o' day is't, Apemantus?

Apemantus : Time to be honest.

First Lord : That time serves still.

Apemantus : The more accursed thou, that still omitt'st it.

Second Lord : Thou art going to Lord Timon's feast?

Apemantus : Ay, to see meat fill knaves and wine heat fools.

Second Lord : Fare thee well, fare thee well.

Apemantus : Thou art a fool to bid me farewell twice.

Second Lord : Why, Apemantus?

Apemantus : Shouldst have kept one to thyself, for I mean to [p]give thee none.

First Lord : Hang thyself!

Apemantus : No, I will do nothing at thy bidding: make thy [p]requests to thy
friend.

Second Lord : Away, unpeaceable dog, or I'll spurn thee hence!

Apemantus : I will fly, like a dog, the heels o' the ass.

First Lord : He's opposite to humanity. Come, shall we in, [p]And taste Lord
Timon's bounty? he outgoes [p]The very heart of kindness.

Second Lord : He pours it out; Plutus, the god of gold, [p]Is but his steward: no
meed, but he repays [p]Sevenfold above itself; no gift to him, [p]But
breeds the giver a return exceeding [p]All use of quittance.

First Lord : The noblest mind he carries [p]That ever govern'd man.

Second Lord : Long may he live in fortunes! Shall we in?

First Lord : I'll keep you company.

Next: Act 1 - Scene 2

Web Standards & Support: