Timon of Athens by William Shakespeare (epub e reader txt) 📕

Timon of Athens

By William Shakespeare.

Table of Contents Titlepage Imprint Dramatis Personae Timon of Athens Act I Scene I Scene II Act II Scene I Scene II Act III Scene I Scene II Scene III Scene IV Scene V Scene VI Act IV Scene I Scene II Scene III Act V Scene I Scene II Scene III Scene IV Colophon Uncopyright Imprint

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Dramatis Personae

Timon, of Athens

Lucius, flattering lord

Lucullus, flattering lord

Sempronius, flattering lord

Ventidius, one of Timon’s false friends

Alcibiades, an Athenian captain

Apemantus, a churlish philosopher

Flavius, steward to Timon

Poet, painter, jeweller, and merchant

An old Athenian

Flaminius, servant of Timon

Lucilius, servant of Timon

Servilius, servant of Timon

Caphis, servant to Timon’s creditors

Philotus, servant to Timon’s creditors

Titus, servant to Timon’s creditors

Lucius, creditors

Hortensius, servant to Timon’s creditors

And other servants to Timon’s creditors

A page

A fool

Three strangers

Phrynia, mistress to Alcibiades

Timandra, mistress to Alcibiades

Cupid and Amazons in the mask

Other lords, senators, officers, soldiers, banditti, and attendants

Scene: Athens, and the neighbouring woods.

Timon of Athens Act I Scene I

Athens. A hall in Timon’s house.

Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and others, at several doors. 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:
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.

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,
To an untirable and continuate goodness:
He passes.

Jeweller I have a jewel here⁠— Merchant O, pray, let’s see’t: for the Lord Timon, sir? Jeweller If he will touch the estimate: but, for that⁠— Poet

Reciting to himself. “When we for recompense have praised the vile,
It stains the glory in that happy verse
Which aptly sings the good.”

Merchant ’Tis a good form. Looking at the jewel. Jeweller And rich: here is a water, look ye. Painter

You are rapt, 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 nourish’d: 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?

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

Upon the heels of my presentment, sir.
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
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.

Painter

It is a pretty mocking of the life.
Here is a touch; is’t good?

Poet

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

Enter certain Senators, and pass over. 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 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: 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.

Painter How shall I understand you? Poet

I will unbolt to you.
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.

Painter 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.

Painter

’Tis conceived to scope.
This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks,
With one man beckon’d from the rest below,
Bowing his head against the sleepy 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.

Painter Ay, marry,