Outline
Characters
Dreamweaver
[Enter Poet and Painter.]
Painter
As I took note of the place, it cannot be far where he abides.
Poet
What’s to be thought of him? Does the rumour hold for true that he is
so full of gold?
Painter
Certain. Alcibiades reports it; Phrynia and Timandra had gold of him.
He likewise enriched 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 supposed 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 a
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-cornered night,
Find what thou want’st by free and offered light.
Come.
Timon
[_Aside_.] I’ll meet you at the turn. What a god’s gold,
That he is worshipped in a baser temple
Than where swine feed!
’Tis thou that rigg’st the bark and plough’st the foam,
Settlest admired reverence in a slave.
To thee be worship, and thy saints for aye
Be crowned with plagues, that thee alone obey!
Fit I meet them.
[He comes forward.]
Poet
Hail, worthy Timon!
Painter
Our late noble master!
Timon
Have I once lived to see two honest men?
Poet
Sir,
Having often of your open bounty tasted,
Hearing you were retired, 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 travailed in the great shower 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
Ye’re honest men. Ye’ve heard that I have gold,
I am sure you have. Speak truth, you’re honest men.
Painter
So it is said, my noble lord; but therefore
Came not my friend nor I.
Timon
Good honest men! [_To Painter_.] Thou draw’st a counterfeit
Best in all Athens. Thou’rt indeed the best,
Thou counterfeit’st most lively.
Painter
So so, my lord.
Timon
E’en so, sir, as I say. [_To the 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-natured 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 assured
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 them or 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 one_.] If where thou art, two villians shall not be,
Come not near him. [_To the other_.] 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 one_.] You have work for me, there’s payment, hence!
[_To the other_.] You are an alchemist; make gold of that.
Out, rascal dogs!
[Timon drives them out and then retires to his cave]