The Life of Timon of Athens. Уильям Шекспир
hand to thee; mine honour on my promise.
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.]
[Presenting his poem]
Vouchsafe my labour, and long live your lordship!
I thank you; you shall hear from me anon:
Go not away. What have you there, my friend?
A piece of painting, which I do beseech
Your lordship to accept.
Painting is welcome.
The painting is almost the natural man;
For since dishonour traffics with man's nature,
He is but outside: these pencill'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.
The gods preserve you!
Well fare you, gentleman: give me your hand;
We must needs dine together. Sir, your jewel
Hath suffered under praise.
What, my lord! dispraise?
A mere satiety of commendations;
If I should pay you for 't as 'tis extoll'd,
It would unclew me quite.
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 the wearing it.
Well mock'd.
No, my good lord; he speaks the common tongue,
Which all men speak with him.
Look who comes here. Will you be chid?
[Enter APEMANTUS.]
We'll bear, with your lordship.
He'll spare none.
Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus!
Till I be gentle, stay thou for thy good morrow;
When thou art Timon's dog, and these knaves honest.
Why dost thou call them knaves? thou know'st them not.
Are they not Athenians?
Yes.
Then I repent not.
You know me, Apemantus?
Thou know'st I do; I call'd thee by thy name.
Thou art proud, Apemantus.
Of nothing so much as that I am not like Timon.
Whither art going?
To knock out an honest Athenian's brains.
That's a deed thou'lt die for.
Right, if doing nothing be death by the law.
How likest thou this picture, Apemantus?
The best, for the innocence.
Wrought he not well that painted it?
APEMANTUS. He wrought better that made the painter; and yet he's but a filthy piece of work.
You're a dog.
Thy mother's of my generation: what's she, if I be a dog?
Wilt dine with me, Apemantus?
No; I eat not lords.
An thou shouldst, thou'dst anger ladies.
O! they eat lords; so they come by great bellies.
That's a lascivious apprehension.
So thou apprehendest it, take it for thy labour.
How dost thou like this jewel, Apemantus?
APEMANTUS. Not so well as plain dealing, which will not cost a man a doit.
What dost thou think 'tis worth?
Not worth my thinking. How now, poet!
How now, philosopher!
Thou liest.
Art not one?
Yes.
Then I lie not.
Art not a poet?
Yes.
APEMANTUS. Then thou liest: look in thy last work, where thou hast feigned him a worthy fellow.
That's not feigned; he is so.
Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay thee for thy
labour: he that loves to be flattered is worthy o' the flatterer.
Heavens, that I were a lord!
What wouldst do then, Apemantus?
Even as Apemantus does now; hate a lord with my heart.
What, thyself?
Ay.
Wherefore?
That