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great quantity. 'Tis said he gave unto his steward a mighty sum.

POET.

Then this breaking of his has been but a try for his friends?

PAINTER.

Nothing else. You shall see him a palm in Athens again,

and flourish with the highest. Therefore 'tis not amiss we tender

our loves to him in this suppos'd distress of his; it will show

honestly in us, and is very likely to load our purposes with what

they travail for, if it be just and true report that goes of his having.

POET.

What have you now to present unto him?

PAINTER.

Nothing at this time but my visitation; only I will

promise him an excellent piece.

POET.

I must serve him so too, tell him of an intent that's coming toward him.

PAINTER.

Good as the best. Promising is the very air o' th'

time;

it opens the eyes of expectation. Performance is ever the duller

for his act, and but in the plainer and simpler kind of people

the deed of saying is quite out of use. To promise is most

courtly and fashionable; performance is a kind of will or

testament which argues a great sickness in his judgment that makes it.

Enter TIMON from his cave

TIMON.

[Aside] Excellent workman! Thou canst not paint a man so bad as is thyself.

POET.

I am thinking what I shall say I have provided for him.

It

must be a personating of himself; a satire against the softness

of prosperity, with a discovery of the infinite flatteries that

follow youth and opulency.

TIMON.

[Aside] Must thou needs stand for a villain in thine own

work? Wilt thou whip thine own faults in other men? Do so, I

have gold for thee.

POET.

Nay, let's seek him;

Then do we sin against our own estate

When we may profit meet and come too late.

PAINTER.

True;

When the day serves, before black-corner'd night,

Find what thou want'st by free and offer'd light.

Come.

TIMON.

[Aside] I'll meet you at the turn. What a god's gold,

That he is worshipp'd in a baser temple

Than where swine feed!

'Tis thou that rig'st the bark and plough'st the foam,

Settlest admired reverence in a slave.

To thee be worship! and thy saints for aye

Be crown'd with plagues, that thee alone obey!

Fit I meet them. [Advancing from his cave]

POET.

Hail, worthy Timon!

PAINTER.

Our late noble master!

TIMON.

Have I once liv'd to see two honest men?

POET.

Sir,

Having often of your open bounty tasted,

Hearing you were retir'd, your friends fall'n off,

Whose thankless natures- O abhorred spirits!-

Not all the whips of heaven 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 monstrous bulk of this ingratitude

With any size of words.

TIMON.

Let it go naked: men may see't the better.

You that are honest, by being what you are,

Make them best seen and known.

PAINTER.

He and myself

Have travail'd in the great show'r of your gifts,

And sweetly felt it.

TIMON.

Ay, you are honest men.

PAINTER.

We are hither come to offer you our service.

TIMON.

Most honest men! Why, how shall I requite you?

Can you eat roots, and drink cold water- No?

BOTH.

What we can do, we'll do, to do you service.

TIMON.

Y'are honest men. Y'have heard that I have gold;

I am sure you have. Speak truth; y'are honest men.

PAINTER.

So it is said, my noble lord; but therefore

Came not my friend nor I.

TIMON.

Good honest men! Thou draw'st a counterfeit

Best in all Athens. Th'art indeed the best;

Thou counterfeit'st most lively.

PAINTER.

So, so, my lord.

TIMON.

E'en so, sir, as I say. [To To POET] And for thy fiction,

Why, thy verse swells with stuff so fine and smooth

That thou art even natural in thine art.

But for all this, my honest-natur'd friends,

I must needs say you have a little fault.

Marry, 'tis not monstrous in you; neither wish I

You take much pains to mend.

BOTH.

Beseech your honour

To make it known to us.

TIMON.

You'll take it ill.

BOTH.

Most thankfully, my lord.

TIMON.

Will you indeed?

BOTH.

Doubt it not, worthy lord.