Enter POET and PAINTER
PAINTER. As I took note of the place, it cannot be far where he abides. POET. to be thought of him? Does the rumour hold for true that he's so full of gold? PAINTER. Certain. Alcibiades reports it; Phrynia and Timandra had gold of him. He likewise enrich'd poor straggling soldiers with 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 whereswine 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 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. TIMON. There's never a one of you but trusts a knave That mightily deceives you. BOTH. Do we, my lord? TIMON. Ay, and you hear him cog, see him dissemble, Know his gross patchery, love him, feed him, Keep in your bosom; yet remain assur'd That he's a made-up villain. PAINTER. I know not such, my lord. POET. Nor I. TIMON. Look you, I love you well; I'll give you gold, Rid me these villains from your companies. Hang themor stab them, drown them in a draught, Confound them by some course, and come to me, I'll give you gold enough. BOTH. Name them, my lord; let's know them. TIMON. You that way, and you this- but two in company; Each man apart, all single and alone, Yet an arch-villain keeps him company. [To the PAINTER] If, where thou art, two villians shall not be, Come not near him. [To the POET] If thou wouldst not reside But where one villain is, then him abandon.- Hence, pack! there's gold; you came for gold, ye slaves. [To the PAINTER] You have work for me; there's payment; hence! [To the POET] You are an alchemist; make gold of that.- Out, rascal dogs! [Beats and drives them out]
Enter FLAVIUS and two SENATORS
