Chapter: Athens. TIMON'S house

Enter POET, PAINTER, JEWELLER, MERCHANT, and MERCER, at several
doors

  POET. Good day, sir.
  PAINTER. I am glad y'are 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 conjur'd 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; breath'd, 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. When we for recompense have prais'd the vile,
    It stains the glory in that happy verse
    Which aptly sings the good.
  MERCHANT. [Looking at the jewel] 'Tis a good form.
  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' th' 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 th' 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 followed!
  POET. The senators of Athens- happy man!
  PAINTER. Look, moe!
  POET. You see this confluence, this great flood of visitors.
    I have in this rough work shap'd 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 tax. 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 slipp'ry 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-fac'd 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 thron'd. The base o' th' 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 conceiv'd to scope.
    This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks,
    With one man beckon'd from the rest below,
    Bowing his head against the steepy 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, what of these?
  POET. When Fortune in her shift and change of mood
    Spurns down her late beloved, all his dependants,
    Which labour'd after him to the mountain's top
    Even on their knees and hands, let him slip down,
    Not one accompanying his declining foot.
  PAINTER. 'Tis common.
    A thousand moral paintings I can show
    That shall demonstrate these quick blows of Fortune's
    More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well
    To show Lord Timon that mean eyes have seen
    The foot above the head.

         Trumpets sound. Enter TIMON, addressing himself
          courteously to every suitor, a MESSENGER from
         VENTIDIUS talking with him; LUCILIUS and other
                       servants following

  TIMON. Imprison'd is he, say you?
  MESSENGER. Ay, my good lord. Five talents is his debt;
    His means most short, his creditors most strait.
    Your honourable letter he desires
    To those have shut him up; which failing,
    Periods his comfort.
  TIMON. Noble Ventidius! Well.
    I am not of that feather to shake of
    My friend when he must need me. I do know him
    A gentleman that well deserves a help,
    Which he shall have. I'll pay the debt, and free him.
  MESSENGER. Your lordship ever binds him.
  TIMON. Commend me to him; I will send his ransom;
    And being enfranchis'd, bid him come to me.
    'Tis not enough to help the feeble up,
    But to support him after. Fare you well.
  MESSENGER. All happiness to your honour!                  Exit

                      Enter an OLD ATHENIAN

  OLD ATHENIAN. Lord Timon, hear me speak.
  TIMON. Freely, good father.
  OLD ATHENIAN. Thou hast a servant nam'd 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,
    By night frequents my house. I am a man
    That from my first have been inclin'd to thrift,
    And my estate deserves an heir more rais'd
    Than one which holds a trencher.
  TIMON. Well; what further?
  OLD ATHENIAN. One only daughter have I, no kin else,
    On whom I may confer what I have got.
    The maid is fair, o' th' youngest for a bride,
    And I have bred her at my dearest cost
    In qualities of the best. This man of thine
    Attempts her love; I prithee, noble lord,
    Join with me to forbid him her resort;
    Myself have spoke in vain.
  TIMON. The man is honest.
  OLD ATHENIAN. Therefore he will be, Timon.
    His honesty rewards him in itself;
    It must not bear my daughter.
  TIMON. Does she love him?
  OLD ATHENIAN. She is young and apt:
    Our own precedent passions do instruct us
    What levity's in youth.
  TIMON. Love you the maid?
  LUCILIUS. Ay, my good lord, and she accepts of it.
  OLD ATHENIAN. If in her marriage my consent be missing,
    I call the gods to witness I will choose
    Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world,
    And dispossess her all.
  TIMON. How shall she be endow'd,
    If she be mated with an equal husband?
  OLD ATHENIAN. Three talents on the present; in future, all.
  TIMON. This gentleman of mine hath serv'd me long;.
    To build his fortune I will strain a little,
    For 'tis a bond in men. Give him thy daughter:
    What you bestow, in him I'll counterpoise,
    And make him weigh with her.
  OLD ATHENIAN. Most noble lord,
    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
    That state or fortune fall into my keeping
    Which is not owed to you!
                                Exeunt LUCILIUS and OLD ATHENIAN
  POET. [Presenting his poem] Vouchsafe my labour, and long live
your
    lordship!
  TIMON. I thank you; you shall hear from me anon;
    Go not away. What have you there, my friend?
  PAINTER. A piece of painting, which I do beseech
    Your lordship to accept.
  TIMON. Painting is welcome.
    The painting is almost the natural man;
    For since dishonour traffics with man's nature,
    He is but outside; these pencill'd figures are
    Even such as they give out. I like your work,
    And you shall find I like it; wait attendance
    Till you hear further from me.
  PAINTER. The gods preserve ye!
  TIMON. Well fare you, gentleman. Give me your hand;
    We must needs dine together. Sir, your jewel
    Hath suffered under praise.
  JEWELLER. What, my lord! Dispraise?
  TIMON. A mere satiety of commendations;
    If I should pay you for't as 'tis extoll'd,
    It would unclew me quite.
  JEWELLER. My lord, 'tis rated
    As those which sell would give; but you well know
    Things of like value, differing in the owners,
    Are prized by their masters. Believe't, dear lord,
    You mend the jewel by the wearing it.
  TIMON. Well mock'd.

                      Enter APEMANTUS

  MERCHANT. No, my good lord; he speaks the common tongue,
    Which all men speak with him.
  TIMON. Look who comes here; will you be chid?
  JEWELLER. We'll bear, with your lordship.
  MERCHANT. He'll spare none.
  TIMON. Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus!
  APEMANTUS. Till I be gentle, stay thou for thy good morrow;
    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.
  JEWELLER. You know me, Apemantus?
  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't die for.
  APEMANTUS. Right, if doing nothing be death by th' law.
  TIMON. How lik'st 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
he's
    but a filthy piece of work.
  PAINTER. Y'are 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'dst anger ladies.
  APEMANTUS. O, they eat lords; so they come by great bellies.
  TIMON. That's a lascivious apprehension.
  APEMANTUS. So thou apprehend'st 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
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
hast
    feign'd him a worthy fellow.
  POET. That's not feign'd- he is so.
  APEMANTUS. Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay thee for thy
    labour. He that loves to be flattered is worthy o' th'
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.- 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!

                Trumpet sounds. Enter a MESSENGER

  TIMON. What trumpet's that?
  MESSENGER. 'Tis Alcibiades, and some twenty horse,
    All of companionship.
  TIMON. Pray entertain them; give them guide to us.
                                          Exeunt some attendants
    You must needs dine with me. Go not you hence
    Till I have thank'd you. When dinner's done
    Show me this piece. I am joyful of your sights.

                Enter ALCIBIADES, with the rest

    Most welcome, sir!                             [They salute]
  APEMANTUS. So, so, there!
    Aches contract and starve your supple joints!
    That there should be small love amongst these sweet knaves,
    And all this courtesy! The strain of man's bred out
    Into baboon and monkey.
  ALCIBIADES. Sir, you have sav'd my longing, and I feed
    Most hungerly on your sight.
  TIMON. Right welcome, sir!
    Ere we depart we'll share a bounteous time
    In different pleasures. Pray you, let us in.
                                        Exeunt all but APEMANTUS

                        Enter two LORDS

  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 omit'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
give
    thee none.
  FIRST LORD. Hang thyself.
  APEMANTUS. No, I will do nothing at thy bidding; make thy
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' th' ass.  Exit
  FIRST LORD. He's opposite to humanity. Come, shall we in
    And taste Lord Timon's bounty? He outgoes
    The very heart of kindness.
  SECOND LORD. He pours it out: Plutus, the god of gold,
    Is but his steward; no meed but he repays
    Sevenfold above itself; no gift to him
    But breeds the giver a return exceeding
    All use of quittance.
  FIRST LORD. The noblest mind he carries
    That ever govern'd man.
  SECOND LORD. Long may he live in fortunes! shall we in?
  FIRST LORD. I'll keep you company.                      Exeunt

 So, a Poet, a Painter, a Jeweler, and a Merchant walk into a bar... Okay, actually, they go to Timon's house--but it might as well be a bar, given all the people who hang around there night after night. They're all, "Hey, how's it goin'?" and "What did you bring for Timon today?" We learn that Timon is a rich guy who is super generous with his money. All the merchants love him and think he's a good guy. Since they know Timon's wealthy, each of the men has brought something to give to Timon. Sure, they're bighearted, too: they made gifts for Timon without him asking. If he happens to reimburse them, who cares? As the men are sharing what they brought, each of them marvels at the others' gifts. The jewel is so rare and expensive; the poem is so beautiful; but the painting is marvelous. It looks exactly like Timon, and all the other men ooh and ahh over it. When some Senators and noblemen come in, the painter and poet talk about what people think of Timon. People from all around town pay tribute to Timon. Hmm... is this because he's such a great guy, or is it because they want some of his generosity to come their way? Either way, the poet and painter decide Timon must be a happy man. Who wouldn't be happy with so many friends? The Poet tells the painter a little more about his poem. He says that in it, he describes a rich and famous guy a lot like Timon. The guy in the poem gives all his gifts away, which the Painter thinks could only make someone happy. But the Poet wonders what would happen if Fortune stopped giving Timon--er, the guy in the poem--so much wealth. What would happen if Fortune spurned this dude? Yep, that's foreshadowing, all right. Just then, Timon enters. He's every bit as charming and kind as the men have said. He shakes hands with each person and even poses with a few babies for the press. Bring out the cake. But not so fast. Not everyone is in a celebratory mood: Ventidius and Lucilius need some dough. Ventidius is in debt, even though he's a nobleman, so Timon pays off the dude's MasterCard and Visa bills--or, you know, the ancient Roman version of those. Timon's servant Lucilius is in love, but since he's a servant and all, he's poor. His honey's dad is worried that if he lets her marry Lucilius, his grandkids will be poor. Timon takes care of that, too: he gives the couple a way-too-expensive wedding gift. Now that all that business is taken care of, it's time for the merchants to give Timon their gifts. Timon likes each one, and there's a big sigh of relief from the merchants, who know they have just made more than their fair share of money. There's cheer and laughter all around. Every party has a pooper, and that's why Shakespeare invited Apemantus. He's a philosopher, which basically means he's always going around town spurting out cranky comments about how badly people treat one another. After a few jabs at the poet and painter, Apemantus makes fun of Timon's new purchases. He warns Timon that these men are just pretending to be his friends to get his money. That's when another twenty men show up along with Timon's acquaintance Alcibiades: they're expecting to be fed and entertained, and Timon doesn't disappoint. He leaves to greet the men and get them settled. Apemantus takes the opportunity to be grumpy with another two lords before leaving. Then the lords talk about how great Timon is. He outdoes himself every time, they say: if there were a kindness competition, Timon would totally win.

