Surely, this man

-Let me behold thy face.
Was born of woman.
Forgive my gen'ral and exceptlefs rashness,
Perpetual, fober Gods! I do proclaim
One honeft man. Miftake me not.
No more, I pray; and he's a fteward.
How fain would I have hated all mankind,
And thou redeem'ft thyfelf; but all, fave thee,
I fell with curfes.

But one;

Methinks, thou art more honeft now, than wife,
For, by oppreffing and betraying me,

Thou might'ft have fooner got another fervice;
For many fo arrive at fecond mafters,

Upon their firft Lord's neck. But tell me true,
For I must ever doubt, tho' ne'er so sure,
Is not thy kindness fubtle, covetous,

A ufuring kindness, as rich men deal gifts,
Expecting in return twenty for one?

Fla. No, my most worthy mafter, in whose breast Doubt and Sufpect, alas, are plac'd too late.

You should have fear'd falfe times, when you did feast;
Sufpect ftill comes, where an eftate is leaft.

That which I fhew, heav'n knows, is meerly love,
Duty, and zeal, to your unmatched mind,

Care of your food and living: and, believe it,
My moft honour'd Lord,

For any benefit that points to me

Either in hope, or prefent, I'd exchange
For this one wish, that you had power

he puts in a caution immediately
after, that he makes an excep-
tion but for one man. To which
the Oxford Editor fays, rectè,

WARBURTON. · This emendation is fpecious, but even this may be controverted. To turn wild is to diftra&. An appearance fo unexpected, fays Timon, almoft turns my favagenefs to distraction. Accord

and wealth

ingly he examines with nicety, left his phrenzy fhould deceive him.

Let me beheld thy face. Surely

this man Was born of woman. And to this fufpected disorder of mind he alludes,

Perpetual, fober, Gods! Ye powers whofe intellects are out of the reach of perturbation.

То

To requite me by making rich yourself.

Tim. Look thee, 'tis fo. Thou fingly honeft man,' Here, take. The Gods out of my mifery Have fent thee treafore. Go, live rich and happy, But thus conditioned; Thou shalt build from men, Hate all, curfe all, fhew charity to none, But let the famifht flefh flide from the bone, Ere thou relieve the beggar. Give to dogs What thou deny'ft to men; let prifons swallow 'em, 'Debts wither 'em. Be men like blafted woods, And may difeafes lick up their falfe bloods. And fo farewel, and thrive.

Flav. O, let me ftay, and comfort you, my Master. Tim. If thou hat'ft curfes,

Stay not, but fly, whilft thou art bleft and free;

Ne'er tee thou man, and let me ne'er fee thee.

[Exeunt feverally,

II.

SCENE

2 Enter Poet and Painter.

Pain. As I took notice of the place, it can't be far where he abides.

9 from men.] Away from human habitations.

Debts wither] Debts wither them to nothing. Folio.

Poet.

fufpected that fome fcenes are tranfpofed, for all thefe difficul ties would be removed by introducing the poet and painter first, and the thieves in this place. Yet I am afraid the fcenes muft keep their prefent order; for, the painter alludes to the thieves, when he fays, he likerife enriched poor fraggling foldiers with great quantity. This impropriety is now heighten'd by placing the thieves in one act, and the poet and painter in another,: but it must be remembered, that

2 Enter Poet and Painter.] The poet and the painter were within view when Apemanas parted from Timon, and might then have feen Timon, fince Apemantus, Landing by him, could fee them: But the fcenes of the thieves and the feward have pafs'd before their arrival, and yet paffed, as the drama is now conducted, within their view. It might be

Poet. What's to be thought of him? Does the ru mour hold for true, that he is fo full of gold?

Pain. Certain. Alcibiades reports it; Phrynia and Timandra had gold of him; he likewife enrich'd poor ftraggling foldiers with great quantity, 'Tis faid, he gave his steward a mighty fum.

Poet. Then this breaking of his has been but a trial of his friends?

Pain. Nothing elfe; you fhall fee him a palm in Athens again; and flourish with the highest. Therefore, 'tis not amifs we tender our loves to him, in this fuppos'd diftrefs of his: it will fhew honestly 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 vifitation; 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. Promifing is the very air o' th' time; it opens the eyes of expectation. Per formance is ever the duller for his act, and, but in the plainer and fimpler kind of people, the deed is quite out of ufe. To promife, is moft courtly, and fashionable; performance is a kind of will or teftament, which argues a great fickness in his judgment that makes it,

Re-enter Timon from his Cave, unfeen.

Tim. Excellent workman! thou canst not paint a man fo bad as thyself.

in the original edition this play is not divided into feparate acts, f that the prefent diftribution is arbitrary, and may be changed if any convenience can be gain

ed, or impropriety obviated by alteration.

3 the deed is] In the old edition, the deed of faying is quite out of uje.

Poet.

Poet. I am thinking what I fhall fay I have pro vided for him. It must be a perfonating of himfelf; a fatire against the foftnefs of profperity, with a difcovery of the infinite flatteries that follow youth and opulency.

Tim. Muft 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:

While the day ferves, 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 worshipped
In bafer temples, than where Swine do feed!
'Tis thou that rigg'ft the bark, and plow'ft the foam,
Settleft admired rev'rence in a flave.

To thee be worthip, and thy faints for aye

Be crown'd with plagues, that thee alone obey!
-'Tis fit I meet them.

Poet. Hail, worthy Timon.

Pain. Our late noble mafter.

Tim. Have I once liv'd to fee two honeft men? Poet. Sir, having often of your bounty tasted,, Hearing you were retir'd, your friends fall'n off, Whofe thanklefs natures, (oh abhorred fpirits!)

4 it must be a perfonating of Binfelf Perfonating, for reprefenting fimply. For the fubject of this projected fathe was Timon's cafe, not his perfon. WARD. While the day ferves, before BLACK-CORNER'D night,] We fhould read,

-BLACK-CORNETTE night.. Arnette is a woman's head

dress for the night. So in another place he calls her, blackbrow'd night. WARBURTON.

Black-corner'd night is probably corrupt, but black-cornette can hardly be right, for it should be black-cornetted night. I cannot propofe any thing, but muft leave the place in its prefent ftate..

Not all the whips of heav'n are large enough-
What! to you!

Whose star-like nobleness gave life and influence
To their whole being! I am rapt, and cannot
Cover the monftrous bulk of this ingratitude
With any fize of words.

Tim. Let it go naked, men may fee't the better;
You that are honeft, by being what you are,
Make them beft feen and known.

Pain. He, and myself,

Have travell'd in the great fhower of your gifts,
And fweetly felt it.

Tim. Ay, you're honest men.

Pain. We're hither come to offer you our service. Tim. Most honeft men! Why, how fhall I requite you?

Can you eat roots, and drink cold water? no.

Both. What we can do, we'll do, to do you fervice. Tim. Y'are honeft men. You've heard, that I have gold;

I'm fure you have.

Speak truth, y'are honest men. Pain. So it is faid, my noble Lord, but therefore Came not my friend, nor I.

Tim. Good honeft man; thou draw'ft a counterfeit Beft in all Athens; thou'rt, indeed, the best 31 Thou counterfeit'ft moft lively.

Pain. So, fo, my Lord.

Tim. E'en fo, Sir, as I fay. And for thy fiction,

*

[To the Poch. Why, thy verfe fwells with ftuff fo fine and smooth, That thou art even natural in thine art. But for all this, my honeft-natur'd friends, I muft needs fay, you have a little fault;

Let it go naked, men may fee't the better] The humour of this reply is incomparable. It infinuates not only the highest contempt of the flatterer in particular, but this ufeful leffon in

general, that the images of things are cleareft feen through a fimplicity of phrafe; of which in the words of the precept, and in thofe which occafion'd it, he has given us examplés. ̈ WARE.

Mar