Pain. Look, moe![1630]
Poet. You see this confluence, this great flood of visitors. 45
I have, in this rough work, shaped out a man,
Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug[1631]
With amplest entertainment: my free drift
Halts not particularly, but moves itself[1632]
In a wide sea of wax: no levell'd malice[1633] 50
Infects one comma in the course I hold;[1634]
But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on,[1635]
Leaving no tract behind.[1636]
Pain. How shall I understand you?
Poet. I will unbolt to you.[1637]
You see how all conditions, how all minds, 55
As well of glib and slippery creatures as[1638]
Of grave and austere quality, tender down
Their services to Lord Timon: his large fortune,[1639]
Upon his good and gracious nature hanging,
Subdues and properties to his love and tendance 60
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[1640]
The knee before him, and returns in peace
Most rich in Timon's nod.
Pain. I saw them speak together.[1641] 65
Poet. Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill[1642]
Feign'd Fortune to be throned: the base o' the mount[1643]
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, 70
Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady fix'd,
One do I personate of Lord Timon's frame,[1644]
Whom Fortune with her ivory hand wafts to her;
Whose present grace to present slaves and servants[1645]
Translates his rivals.
Pain. 'Tis conceived to scope.[1646] 75
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.[1647] 80
All those which were his fellows but of late,
Some better than his value, on the moment[1648]
Follow his strides, his lobbies fill with tendance,[1649]
Rain sacrificial whisperings in his ear,[1650]
Make sacred even his stirrup, and through him 85
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[1651]
Even on their knees and hands, let him slip down,[1652] 90
Not one accompanying his declining foot.