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. 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 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.
TIMON
Excellent workman! 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
Must needs stand for a villain in own work? Wilt whip own faults in other men? Do so, I have gold for .
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 want’st by free and offered light.
Come.
TIMON
I’ll meet you at the turn. What a god’s gold,
That he is worshipped in a baser temple
Than where swine feed!
that rigg’st the bark and plough’st the foam,
Settlest admired reverence in a slave.
To be worship, and saints for aye
Be crowned with plagues, that alone obey!
Fit I meet them.
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 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! draw’st a counterfeit
Best in all Athens. Thou’rt indeed the best,
counterfeit’st most lively.
PAINTER
So so, my lord.
TIMON
so, sir, as I say. And for fiction,
Why, verse swells with stuff so fine and smooth
That art even natural in art.
But for all this, my honest-natured friends,
I must needs say you have a little fault.
Marry, 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
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.
If where art, two villians shall not be,
Come not near him. If not reside
But where one villain is, then him abandon.
, pack! There’s gold. You came for gold, slaves.
You have work for me, there’s payment, !
You are an alchemist; make gold of that.
Out, rascal dogs!