Imagens das páginas

1 Mus. Marry, Sir, because silver hath a sweet sound. Pet. Pretty!-What say you, Hugh Rebeck? 2 Mus. I say "silver sound," because musicians sound for silver.

Pet. Pretty too!-What say you, James Soundpost? S Mus. 'Faith, I know not what to say.

Pet. O, I cry you mercy! you are the singer: I will say for you. It is "music with her silver sound," because such fellows as you have seldom gold for sounding:

"Then music, with her silver sound,
With speedy help doth lend redress."
[Exit, singing.

1 Mus. What a pestilent knave is this same! 2 Mus. Hang him, Jack! Come, we'll in here; tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner. [Exeunt.



Enter ROMEO.

Rom. If I may trust the flattering eye of sleep,
My dreams presage some joyful news at hand:
My bosom's ford sits lightly in his throne;
And all this day an unaccustom'd spirit

Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.

I dreamt, my lady came and found me dead,

(Strange dream! that gives a dead man leave to think,)
And breathed such life with kisses in my lips,
That I revived, and was an emperor.

Ah me! how sweet is love itself possess'd,
When but love's shadows are so rich in joy!

News from Verona!-How now, Balthazar?
Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar?
llow doth my lady? Is my father well?
How fares my Juliet? That I ask again;
For nothing can be ill, if she be well.

Bal. Then she is well, and nothing can be ill;
Her body sleeps in Capels' monument,
And her immortal part with angels lives;
I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault,
And presently took post to tell it you:-
O pardon me for bringing these ill news,
Since you did leave it for my office, Sir.

Rom. Is it even so? then I defy you, stars!-
Thou know'st my lodging; get me ink and paper,
And hire post-horses; I will hence to-night.

Bal. Pardon me, Sir, I will not leave you thus: Your looks are pale and wild, and do import Some misadventure.

Rom. Tush, thou art deceived;

Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do;
Hast thou no letters to me from the friar?

Bal. No, my good lord.

Rom. No matter: get thee gone,

And hire those horses; I'll be with thee straight.
Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night.
Let's see for means:-O mischief, thou art swift
To enter in the thoughts of desperate men!
I do remember an apothecary,-

And hereabouts he dwells,-whom late I noted
In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows,
Culling of simples; meagre were his looks,
Sharp misery had worn him to the bones:
And in his needy shop a tortoise hung,
An alligator stuff'd, and other skins
Of ill-shaped fishes; and about his shelves

A beggarly account of empty boxes,

Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds,
Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses,
Were thinly scatter'd, to make up a show.
Noting this penury, to myself I said-
An if a man did need a poison now,
Whose sale is present death in Mantua,
Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him.
O, this same thought did but forerun my need;
And this same needy man must sell it me.
As I remember, this should be the house:
Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut.-
What, hol apothecary!

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A dram of poison; such soon-speeding gear
As will disperse itself through all the veins,
That the life-weary taker may fall dead;
And that the trunk may be discharged of breath
As violently as hasty powder fired

Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb.

Ap. Such mortal drugs I have; but Mantua's law Is death to any he that utters them.

Rom. Art thou so bare and full of wretchedness,
And fear'st to die? famine is in thy cheeks,
Need and oppression starveth in thine eyes,
Upon thy back hangs ragged misery,

The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law:
The world affords no law to make thee rich;
Then be not poor, but break it, and take this.
Ap. My poverty, but not my will, consents.
Rom. I pay thy poverty, and not thy will.
Ap. Put this in any liquid thing you will,
And drink it off; and, if you had the strength
Of twenty men, it would despatch you straight.

Rom. There is thy gold; worse poison to men's souls
Doing more murders in this loathsome world,
Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell:
I sell thee poison, thou hast sold me none.
Farewell; buy food, and get thyself in flesh.---
Come, cordial, and not poison, go with me
To Juliet's grave, for there must I use thee.


John. Holy Franciscan friar! brother, ho!



Lau. This same should be the voice of friar JohnWelcome from Mantua: what says Romeo? Or, if his mind be writ, give me his letter.

John. Going to find a barefoot brother out,

One of our order, to associate me,
Here in this city visiting the sick,
And finding him, the searchers of the town,
Suspecting that we both were in a house
Where the infectious pestilence did reign,
Seal'd up the doors, and would not let us forth;
So that my speed to Mantua there was stay'd.
Lau. Who bare my letter then to Romeo?
John. I could not send it,-here it is again,—
Nor get a messenger to bring it thee,
So fearful were they of infection.

Lau. Unhappy fortune! by my brotherhood,
The letter was not nice, but full of charge,
Of dear import; and the neglecting it
May do much danger. Friar John, go hence,
Get me an iron crow, and bring it straight
Unto my cell.

John. Brother, I'll go and bring it thee.
Lau. Now must I to the monument alone;
Within this three hours will fair Juliet wake;
She will beshrew me much, that Romeo
Hath had no notice of these accidents:
But I will write again to Mantua,

And keep her at my cell till Romeo come;


Poor living corse, closed in a dead man's tomb! Ezit. SCENE III.-A Churchyard; in it a Monument belonging to the CAPULETS.

Enter PARIS, and his Page, bearing flowers and a torch.
Par. Give me thy torch, boy: hence, and stand
Yet put it out, for I would not be seen. [aloof-
Under yon yew-trees lay thee all along,
Holding thine ear close to the hollow ground;
So shall no foot upon the churchyard tread
(Being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves)
But thou shalt hear it: whistle then to me,
As signal that thou hear'st something approach.
Give me those flowers. Do as I bid thee, go.
Page. I am almost afraid to stand alone

Here in the churchyard; yet I will adventure. [Retires
Par. Sweet flower, with flowers I strew thy bridal bed:
Sweet tomb, that in thy circuit dost contain

The perfect model of eternity;

Fair Juliet, that with angels dost remain,
Accept this latest favour at my hands;
That living honour'd thee, and, being dead,
With funeral praises do adorn thy tomb!

[The Boy whistle
The boy gives warning something doth approach.
What cursed foot wanders this way to-night,
To cross my obsequies, and true love's rite!
What, with a torch -muffle me, night, a while.


Enter ROMBO and BALTHAZAR, with a torch, mattoc, &c.
Rom. Give me that mattock, and the wrenching iron
Hold, take this letter; early in the morning
See thou deliver it to my lord and father.
Give me the light: upon thy life I charge thee,
Whate'er thou hear'st or seest, stand all aloof,
And do not interrupt me in my course.
Why I descend into this bed of death,

Is partly to behold my lady's face:

But chiefly to take thence from her dead finger

A precious ring,-a ring that I must use

In dear employment; therefore hence, begone:-
But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry

In what I further shall intend to do,

By heaven, 1 will tear thee joint by joint,

And strew this hungry churchyard with thy limbs:
The time and my intents are savage-wild;
More fierce, and more inexorable far,
Than empty tigers or the roaring sea.

Bal. I will be gone, Sir, and not trouble you. [that: Rom. So shalt thou shew me friendship.-Take thou Live, and be prosperous; and farewell, good fellow.

Bal. [Aside.] For all this same, I'll hide me hereabout; His looks I fear, and his intents I doubt. [Retires.

Rom. Thou détestable maw, thou womb of death,
Gorged with the dearest morsel of the earth,
Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open,

[Breaking open the door of the monument.
And, in despite, I'll cram thee with more food!
Par. This is that banish'd haughty Montague,
That murder'd my love's cousin ;-with which grief,
It is supposed the fair creature died,—

And here is come to do some villanous shame
To the dead bodies: I will apprehend him.—


Stop thy unhallow'd toil, vile Montague!
Can vengeance be pursued further than death?
Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee:
Obey, and go with me; for thou must die.

Rom. I must, indeed; and therefore came I hither.Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man,

Fly hence, and leave me ;-think upon these gone;
Let them affright thee.-I beseech thee, youth,
Heap not another sin upon my head,

By urging me to fury:-0, begone!

By heaven, I love thee better than myself:

For I come hither arm'd against myself:

Stay not, begone;-live, and hereafter say

A madman's mercy bade thee run away.
Par. I do defy thy conjurations,
And do attach thee as a felon here.

Rom. Wilt thou provoke me? then have at thee, boy. [They fight. Page. O Lord! they fight: I will go call the watch. [Exit Page. Par. [Falls.] 0, I am slain!-If thou be merciful, Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet. [Dies.

Rom. In faith, I will.-Let me peruse this face:Mercutio's kinsman, noble county Paris!What said my man, when my betossed soul Did not attend him as we rode? I think

He told me, Paris should have married Juliet:

Said he not so? or did I dream it so?
Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet,
To think it was so?-0, give me thy hand,
One writ with me in sour misfortune's book!
I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave,-

A grave? O, no; a lantern, slaughter'd youth;
For here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes
This vault a feasting presence full of light.
Death, lie thou there, by a dead man interr'd.

[Laying PARIS in the monument.
How oft when men are at the point of death
Have they been merry! which their keepers call
A lightning before death: 0, how may I
Call this a lightning?-O, my love! my wife!
Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath,
Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty:
Thou art not conquer'd; beauty's ensign yet
Is crimson in thy lips, and in thy cheeks,
And death's pale flag is not advanced there.-
Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet?
O, what more favour can I do to thee,

Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain,
To sunder his that was thine enemy?
Forgive me, cousin!-Ah, dear Juliet,
Why art thou yet so fair? Shall I believe
That unsubstantial Death is amorous;
And that the lean abhorred monster keeps
Thee here in dark to be his paramour?

For fear of that, I still will stay with thee;
And never from this palace of dim night
Depart again; here, here will I remain
With worms that are thy chambermaids; O, here
Will I set up my everlasting rest;

And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars
From this world-wearied flesh.-Eyes, look your last!
Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you
The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss


A dateless bargain to engrossing death!-
Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide!
Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on
The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark!
Here's to my love! [Drinks.] O, true apothecary!
Thy drugs are quick.—Thus with a kiss I die.
Enter, at the other end of the Churchyard, FRIAR LAU-
RENCE, with a lantern, crow, and spade.
Fri. Saint Francis be my speed! how oft to-night
Have my old feet stumbled at graves!--Who's there?
Who is it that consorts so late the dead?

Bal. [Advancing.] Here's one, a friend, and one that knows you well.

Fri. Bliss be upon you! Tell me, good my friend, What torch is yond' that vainly lends his light To grubs and eyeless skulls? as I discern, It burneth in the Capels' monument.

Bal. It doth so, holy Sir; and there's my master, One that you love.

Fri. Who is it?

Bal. Romeo.

Fri. How long hath he been there?

Bal. Full half an hour.

Fri. Go with me to the vault.

Bal. I dare not, Sir:

My master knows not but I am gone hence,
And fearfully did menace me with death,

If I did stay to look on his intents.

Fri. Stay, then: I'll go alone.--Fear comes upon mə'

O, much I fear some ill unlucky thing!

Bal. As I did sleep under this yew-tree here,

I dreamt my master and another fought,

And that my master slew him.

Fri. [Advances.] Romeo!

Alack, alack, what blood is this which stains
The stony entrance of this sepulchre?-
What mean these masterless and gory swords
To lie discolour'd by this place of peace?

[Enters the monumen
Romeo! O, pale!-Who else? what, Paris, too?
And steep'd in blood?-Ah, what an unkind hour
Is guilty of this lamentable chance!
The lady stirs.

[JULIET wakes and stirs Jul. O, comfortable friar! where is my lord ?I do remember well where I should be, And there I am:-Where is my Romeo? [Noise within. Fri. I hear some noise.-Lady, come from that nest Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep;

A greater Power than we can contradict

Hath thwarted our intents;-come, come, away:

Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead;

And Paris too ;-come, I'll dispose of thee

Among a sisterhood of holy nuns

Stay not to question, for the watch is coming;

Come, go, good Juliet, [Noise again.]—I dare no longer stay.


Jul. Go, get thee hence, for I will not away. What's here? a cup, closed in my true love's hand? Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end:O churl! drink all; and leave no friendly drop, To help me after?-I will kiss thy lips; Haply, some poison yet doth hang on them, To make me die with a restorative. Thy lips are warm!

[Kisses him.

1 Watch. [Within.] Lead, boy!--Which way? Jul. Yea, noise ?-then I'll be brief.-O happy dag. ger! [Snatching RoMEO's dagger. This is thy sheath; [Stabs herself.] there rest, and let me die. [Falls on ROMEO's body, and dies. Enter Watch, with the Page of PARIS. Page. This is the place; there, where the torch doth


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We see the ground whereon these woes do lie;
But the true ground of all these piteous woes,
We cannot without circumstance descry.

Re-enter some of the Watch, with BALTHAZAR. 2 Watch. Here's Romeo's man; we found him in the churchyard.

1 Watch. Hold him in safety till the prince come hither.

Enter another Watchman, with FRIAR LAURENCE. 3 Watch. Here is a friar, that trembles, sighs, and We took this mattock and this spade from him, [weeps; As he was coming from this churchyard side.

1 Watch. A great suspicion : stay the friar too. Enter the PRINCE and Attendants. Prince. What misadventure is so early up, That calls our person from our morning's rest?

Enter CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, and others. Cap. What should it be, that they so shriek abroad? La. Cap. The people in the street cry Romeo, Some Juliet, and some Paris; and all run, With open outcry, toward our monument.

Prince. What fear is this, which startles in our ears 1 Watch. Sovereign, here lies the county Paris slain And Romeo dead; and Juliet, dead before, Warm and new kill'd.


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Cap. O heavens!-0 wife! look how our daughter This dagger hath mista'en-for lo! his house [bleeds! Is empty on the back of Montague,

And is mis-sheathed in my daughter's bosom.

La. Cap. O met this sight of death is as a bell, That warns my old age to a sepulchre.

Enter MONTAGUE and others.

Prince. Come, Montague; for thou art early up, To see thy son and heir more early down.

Mon. Alas, my liege, my wife is dead to-night; Grief of my son's exile hath stopp'd her breath: What further woe conspires against mine age? Prince. Look, and thou shalt see.

Mon. O thou untaught! what manners is in this, To press before thy father to a grave?

Prince. Seal up the mouth of outrage for a while, Till we can clear these ambiguities,

And know their spring, their head, their true descent;
And then will I be general of your woes,

And lead you even to death: meantime forbear,
And let mischance be slave to patience.-
Bring forth the parties of suspicion.

Fri. I am the greatest, able to do least,
Yet most suspected, as the time and place
Doth make against me, of this direful murder;
And here I stand, both to impeach and purge
Myself condemned and myself accused.

Prince. Then say at once what thou dost know in this.
Fri. I will be brief, for my short date of breath
Is not so long as is a tedious tale.

Romeo, there dead, was husband to that Juliet;
And she, there dead, that Romeo's faithful wife:
I married them; and their stolen marriage-day
Was Tybalt's doomsday, whose untimely death
Banish'd the new-made bridegroom from this city;
For whom, and not for Tybalt, Juliet pined.
You, to remove that siege of grief from her,
Betroth'd, and would have married her perforce,
Te county Faris:-Then comes she to me;

And, with wild looks, bid me devise some means
To rid her from this second marriage,
Or in my cell there would she kill herself.
Then gave I her, so tutor'd by my art,
A sleeping potion; which so took effect
As I intended, for it wrought on her
The form of death: meantime I writ to Romeo,
That he should hither come, as this dire night,
To help to take her from her borrow'd grave,
Being the time the potion's force should cease,
But he which bore my letter, friar John,
Was stay'd by accident; and yesternight
Return'd my letter back. Then all alone,
At the prefixed hour of her waking,
Came I to take her from her kindred's vault;
Meaning to keep her closely at my cell,
Till I conveniently could send to Romeo:
But, when I came, (some minute ere the time
Of her awakening,) here untimely lay
The noble Paris, and true Romeo, dead.
She wakes; and I entreated her come forth,
And bear this work of heaven with patience:
But then a noise did scare me from the tomb;
And she, too desperate, would not go with me,
But (as it seems) did violence on herself.
All this I know; and to the marriage
Her nurse is privy: and, if aught in this
Miscarried by my fault, let my old life
Be sacrificed, some hour before his time,
Unto the 11gour of severest law.

Prince. We still have known thee for a holy man.-
Where's Romeo's man? what can he say in this?
Bal. I brought my master news of Juliet's death;
And then in post he came from Mantua,
To this same place, to this same monument.
This letter he early bid me give his father;
And threaten'd me with death, going in the vault,
If I departed not, and left him there.

Prince. Give me the letter, I will look on it.Where is the county's page, that raised the watch!Sirrah, what made your master in this place?

Page. He came with flowers to strew his lady's grave, And bid me stand aloof, and so I did:

Anon, comes one with light to ope the tomb;
And, by and by, my master drew on him;
And then I ran away to call the watch.

Prince. This letter doth make good the friar's words,
Their course of love, the tidings of her death:
And here he writes, that he did buy a poison
Of a poor 'pothecary; and therewithal
Came to this vault to die, and lie with Juliet.-
Where be these enemies?-Capulet! Montague!-
See, what a scourge is laid upon your hate,
That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love!
And I, for winking at your discords too,
Have lost a brace of kinsmen:-all are punish'd.
Cap. O, brother Montague, give me thy hand:
This is my daughter's jointure, for no more
Can I demand.

Mon. But I can give thee more:
For I will raise her statue in pure gold;
That, while Verona by that name is known,
There shall no figure at such rate be set,
As that of true and faithful Juliet.

Cap. As rich shall Romeo by his lady lle;
Poor sacrifices of our enmity!

Prince. A glooming peace this morning with it bring? The sun for sorrow will not shew his head: Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things; Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished: For never was a story of more woe, Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.


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Poet. Good day, Sir.

Pain. I am glad you are well.

But flies an eagle flight, bold, and forth on,
Leaving no tract behind.

Pain How shall I understand you?
Poet. I'll unbolt to you.

You see how all conditions, how all minds
(As well of glib and slippery creatures, as
Of grave and austere quality) tender down
Their services to lord Timon: his large fortune,

Poet. I have not seen you long; how goes the world? Upon his good and gracious nature hanging,

Pain. 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 conjured to attend. I know the merchant.

Pain. I know them both; t'other's a jeweller.
Mer. O. 'tis a worthy lord!

Jew. Nay, that's most fix'd.

Mer. A most incomparable man; breathed, as it were, To an untirable and continuate goodness:



Jew. I have a jewel here.

Mer. O, pray, let's see 't; for the lord Timon, Sir! Jew. If he will touch the estimate: but, for thatPoet. [Reciting to himself.] "When we for recompense have praised the vile,

It stains the glory in that happy verse

Which aptly sings the good."

Mer. [Looking at the jewel.] 'Tis a good form.

Jew. And rich: here is a water, look you.

Pain. You are rapt, Sir, in some work, some dedica

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' the flint

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Subdues and properties to his love and tendance
All sorts of hearts; yea, from the glass-faced 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.

Pain. I saw them speak together.

Poet. Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill Feign'd Fortune to be throned: the base o' the 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.

Pain. 'Tis conceived 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,
Make sacred even his stirrup, and through him
Rain sacrificial whisperings in his ear,

Drink the free air.

Pain. 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. Pain. 'Tis common:

A thousand moral paintings I can shew,

That shall demonstrate these quick blows of Fortune
More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well,
To shew lord Timon that mean eyes have seen
The foot above the head.

Trumpets sound. Enter TIMON, attended; the Servant of VENTIDIUS talking with him.

Tim. Imprison'd is he, say you?

Ven. Serv. 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 to him,

Periods his comfort.

Tim. Noble Ventidius! Well;

I am not of that feather, to shake off

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. Ven. Serv. Your lordship ever binds him.

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Tim. Well; what further?

Old Ath. One only daughter have I, no kin else, On whom I may confer what I have got: The maid is fair, o' the 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 pr'ythee, noble lord, Join with me to forbid him her resort; Myself have spoke in vain.

Tim. The man is honest.

Old Ath. Therefore he will be, Timon:
His honesty rewards him in itself;
It must not bear my daughter.

Tim. Does she love him?

Old Ath. She is young, and apt:

Our own precedent passions do instruct us

What levity's in youth.

Tim. [To LUCILIUS.] Love you the maid?

Luc. Ay, my good lord; and she accepts of it.

Old Ath. 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.

Tim. How shall she be endow'd,

If she be mated with an equal husband?

Old Ath. Three talents on the present; in future, all. Tim. This gentleman of mine hath served 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 Ath. Most noble lord,

Pawn me to this your honour, she is his.

Tim. My hand to thee; mine honour on my promise. Luc. 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. Vouchsafe my labour, and long live your lordship!

Tim. I thank you; you shall hear from me anon: Go not away. What have you there, my friend? Pain. A piece of painting, which I do beseech Your lordship to accept.

Tim. Painting is welcome.

The painting is almost the natural man;

For since dishonour traffics with man's nature,
He is but outside: these pencil'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.

Pain. The gods preserve you!

Tim. Well fare you, gentleman: give me your hand; We must needs dine together.-Sir, your jewel Hath suffer'd under praise.

Jew. What, my lord? dispraise?

Tim. A mere satiety of commendations.

If I should pay you for 't as 'tis extoll'd,

It would unclew me quite.

Jew. 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 wearing it.

Tim. Well mock'd.

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Mer. He'll spare none.

Tim. Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus! Apem. Till I be gentle, stay for thy good morrow; When thou art Timon's dog, and these knaves honest. Tim. Why dost thou call them knaves? thou know'st them not.

Apem. Are they not Athenians?
Tim. Yes.

Apem. Then I repent not.

Jew. You know me, Apemantus.

Apem. Thou know'st I do; I call'd thee by thy name. Tim. Thou art proud, Apemantus.

Apem Of nothing so much, as that I am not like Timon.

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Apem. Thy mother's of my generation; what's she, if I be a dog?

Tim. Wilt dine with me, Apemantus?

Apem. No; I eat not lords.

Tim. An thou shouldst, thou 'dst anger ladies. Apem. O, they eat lords; so they come by great bellies Tim. That's a lascivious apprehension.

Apem. So thou apprehend'st it: take it for thy labour. Tim. How dost thou like this jewel, Apemantus? Apem. Not so well as plain-dealing, which will not cost a man a doit.

Tim. What dost thou think 'tis worth?

Apem. Not worth my thinking.-How now, poet! Poet. How now, philosopher?

Apem. Thou liest.

Poet. Art not one?
Apem. Yes.

Poet. Then I lie not.

Apem. Art not a poet? Poet. Yes.

[blocks in formation]

Tim. 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.

1 Lord. What time o' day is 't, Apemantus? Apem. Time to be honest.

1 Lord. That time serves still

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