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The Life of Timon of Athens - ebook
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The Life of Timon of Athens - ebook
A very instructive story about not doing good is not getting evil. The main character is a tragic personality. At first he loved people with all his soul, who was eager to help them selflessly and ruined as a result of this, in one day he would know all human ingratitude, self-interest and anger. In anger, Timon of Athens kills one of his insulters, for which he is expelled from Athens.
| Kategoria: | Classic Literature |
| Język: | Angielski |
| Zabezpieczenie: |
Watermark
|
| ISBN: | 978-83-8176-685-2 |
| Rozmiar pliku: | 2,2 MB |
FRAGMENT KSIĄŻKI
Contents
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
Act I
SCENE I. Athens. A Hall in TIMON'S House
SCENE II. The Same. A room of state in TIMON'S House.
Act II
SCENE I. Athens. A Room in a SENATOR'S House.
SCENE II. The same. A Hall in TIMON'S House.
Act III
Scene I. Athens. A Room in LUCULLUS' House.
SCENE II. A Public Place.
SCENE III. The Same. A Room in SEMPRONIUS' House.
SCENE IV. A hall in TIMON'S House.
SCENE V. The Same. The Senate House. The Senate Sitting.
SCENE VI. A room of State in TIMON'S House.
Act IV
SCENE I. Without the walls of Athens
SCENE II. Athens. A Room in TIMON's House.
SCENE III. Woods and Caves near the Sea-shore.
Act V
SCENE I. The woods. Before TIMON's Cave.
SCENE II. Before the walls of Athens.
SCENE III. The Woods. TIMON's cave, and a rude tomb seen.
SCENE IV. Before the walls of AthensDRAMATIS PERSONAE
TIMON, a noble Athenian
LUCIUS
LUCULLUS flattering Lords.
SEMPRONIUS
VENTIDIUS, one of Timon’s false Friends.
APEMANTUS, a churlish Philosopher.
ALCIBIADES, an Athenian Captain.
FLAVIUS, Steward to Timon.
FLAMINIUS
LUCILIUS Servants to Timon.
SERVILIUS
CAPHIS
PHILOTUS Servants to Timon’s Creditors.
TITUS
HORTENSIUS
Servants of Ventidius, and of Varro and Isidore (two of Timon’s Creditor’s).
THREE STRANGERS.
AN OLD ATHENIAN.
A PAGE.
A FOOL.
Poet, Painter, Jeweller, and Merchant.
PHRYNIA Mistresses to Alcibiades.
TIMANDRA
Lords, Senators, Officers, Soldiers, Servants, Thieves, and Attendants
CUPID and Amazons in the Masque.
SCENE.–Athens, and the neighbouring Woods.Act I
SCENE I. Athens. A Hall in TIMON’S House
POET.
Good day, sir.
PAINTER.
I am glad you’re well.
POET.
I have not seen you long. How goes the world?
PAINTER.
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 conjur’d to attend! I know the merchant.
PAINTER.
I know them both; th’ other’s a jeweller.
MERCHANT.
O, ’tis a worthy lord!
JEWELLER.
Nay, that’s most fix’d.
MERCHANT.
A most incomparable man; breath’d, as it were,
To an untirable and continuate goodness.
He passes.
JEWELLER.
I have a jewel here–
MERCHANT.
O, pray let’s see’t: for the Lord Timon, sir?
JEWELLER.
If he will touch the estimate: but for that–
POET.
When we for recompense have prais’d the vile,
It stains the glory in that happy verse
Which aptly sings the good.
MERCHANT.
'Tis a good form.
JEWELLER.
And rich: here is a water, look ye.
PAINTER.
You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedication
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
Shows not till it be struck; our gentle flame
Provokes itself, and like the current flies
Each bound it chafes. What have you there?
PAINTER.
A picture, sir. When comes your book forth?
POET.
Upon the heels of my presentment, sir.
Let’s see your piece.
PAINTER.
'Tis a good piece.
POET.
So ‘tis: this comes off well and excellent.
PAINTER.
Indifferent.
POET.
Admirable! How this grace
Speaks his own standing! what a mental power
This eye shoots forth! how big imagination
Moves in this lip! to the dumbness of the gesture
One might interpret.
PAINTER.
It is a pretty mocking of the life.
Here is a touch; is’t good?
POET.
I’ll say of it,
It tutors nature: artificial strife
Lives in these touches, livelier than life.
PAINTER.
How this lord is followed!
POET.
The senators of Athens: happy man!
PAINTER.
Look, more!
POET.
You see this confluence, this great flood of visitors.
I have, in this rough work, shap’d out a man
Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug
With amplest entertainment: my free drift
Halts not particularly, but moves itself
In a wide sea of wax: no levell’d malice
Infects one comma in the course I hold:
But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on,
Leaving no tract behind.
PAINTER.
How shall I understand you?
POET.
I will unbolt to you.
You see how all conditions, how all minds–
As well of glib and slipp’ry creatures as
Of grave and austere quality–tender down
Their services to Lord Timon: his large fortune,
Upon his good and gracious nature hanging,
Subdues and properties to his love and tendance
All sorts of hearts; yea, from the glass-fac’d 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.
PAINTER.
I saw them speak together.
POET.
Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill
Feign’d Fortune to be thron’d: 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.
PAINTER.
'Tis conceiv’d 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,
Rain sacrificial whisperings in his ear,
Make sacred even his stirrup, and through him
Drink the free air.
PAINTER.
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.
PAINTER.
'Tis common:
A thousand moral paintings I can show
That shall demonstrate these quick blows of Fortune’s
More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well
To show Lord Timon that mean eyes have seen
The foot above the head.
This is a free sample. Please purchase full version of the book to continue.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
Act I
SCENE I. Athens. A Hall in TIMON'S House
SCENE II. The Same. A room of state in TIMON'S House.
Act II
SCENE I. Athens. A Room in a SENATOR'S House.
SCENE II. The same. A Hall in TIMON'S House.
Act III
Scene I. Athens. A Room in LUCULLUS' House.
SCENE II. A Public Place.
SCENE III. The Same. A Room in SEMPRONIUS' House.
SCENE IV. A hall in TIMON'S House.
SCENE V. The Same. The Senate House. The Senate Sitting.
SCENE VI. A room of State in TIMON'S House.
Act IV
SCENE I. Without the walls of Athens
SCENE II. Athens. A Room in TIMON's House.
SCENE III. Woods and Caves near the Sea-shore.
Act V
SCENE I. The woods. Before TIMON's Cave.
SCENE II. Before the walls of Athens.
SCENE III. The Woods. TIMON's cave, and a rude tomb seen.
SCENE IV. Before the walls of AthensDRAMATIS PERSONAE
TIMON, a noble Athenian
LUCIUS
LUCULLUS flattering Lords.
SEMPRONIUS
VENTIDIUS, one of Timon’s false Friends.
APEMANTUS, a churlish Philosopher.
ALCIBIADES, an Athenian Captain.
FLAVIUS, Steward to Timon.
FLAMINIUS
LUCILIUS Servants to Timon.
SERVILIUS
CAPHIS
PHILOTUS Servants to Timon’s Creditors.
TITUS
HORTENSIUS
Servants of Ventidius, and of Varro and Isidore (two of Timon’s Creditor’s).
THREE STRANGERS.
AN OLD ATHENIAN.
A PAGE.
A FOOL.
Poet, Painter, Jeweller, and Merchant.
PHRYNIA Mistresses to Alcibiades.
TIMANDRA
Lords, Senators, Officers, Soldiers, Servants, Thieves, and Attendants
CUPID and Amazons in the Masque.
SCENE.–Athens, and the neighbouring Woods.Act I
SCENE I. Athens. A Hall in TIMON’S House
POET.
Good day, sir.
PAINTER.
I am glad you’re well.
POET.
I have not seen you long. How goes the world?
PAINTER.
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 conjur’d to attend! I know the merchant.
PAINTER.
I know them both; th’ other’s a jeweller.
MERCHANT.
O, ’tis a worthy lord!
JEWELLER.
Nay, that’s most fix’d.
MERCHANT.
A most incomparable man; breath’d, as it were,
To an untirable and continuate goodness.
He passes.
JEWELLER.
I have a jewel here–
MERCHANT.
O, pray let’s see’t: for the Lord Timon, sir?
JEWELLER.
If he will touch the estimate: but for that–
POET.
When we for recompense have prais’d the vile,
It stains the glory in that happy verse
Which aptly sings the good.
MERCHANT.
'Tis a good form.
JEWELLER.
And rich: here is a water, look ye.
PAINTER.
You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedication
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
Shows not till it be struck; our gentle flame
Provokes itself, and like the current flies
Each bound it chafes. What have you there?
PAINTER.
A picture, sir. When comes your book forth?
POET.
Upon the heels of my presentment, sir.
Let’s see your piece.
PAINTER.
'Tis a good piece.
POET.
So ‘tis: this comes off well and excellent.
PAINTER.
Indifferent.
POET.
Admirable! How this grace
Speaks his own standing! what a mental power
This eye shoots forth! how big imagination
Moves in this lip! to the dumbness of the gesture
One might interpret.
PAINTER.
It is a pretty mocking of the life.
Here is a touch; is’t good?
POET.
I’ll say of it,
It tutors nature: artificial strife
Lives in these touches, livelier than life.
PAINTER.
How this lord is followed!
POET.
The senators of Athens: happy man!
PAINTER.
Look, more!
POET.
You see this confluence, this great flood of visitors.
I have, in this rough work, shap’d out a man
Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug
With amplest entertainment: my free drift
Halts not particularly, but moves itself
In a wide sea of wax: no levell’d malice
Infects one comma in the course I hold:
But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on,
Leaving no tract behind.
PAINTER.
How shall I understand you?
POET.
I will unbolt to you.
You see how all conditions, how all minds–
As well of glib and slipp’ry creatures as
Of grave and austere quality–tender down
Their services to Lord Timon: his large fortune,
Upon his good and gracious nature hanging,
Subdues and properties to his love and tendance
All sorts of hearts; yea, from the glass-fac’d 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.
PAINTER.
I saw them speak together.
POET.
Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill
Feign’d Fortune to be thron’d: 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.
PAINTER.
'Tis conceiv’d 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,
Rain sacrificial whisperings in his ear,
Make sacred even his stirrup, and through him
Drink the free air.
PAINTER.
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.
PAINTER.
'Tis common:
A thousand moral paintings I can show
That shall demonstrate these quick blows of Fortune’s
More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well
To show Lord Timon that mean eyes have seen
The foot above the head.
This is a free sample. Please purchase full version of the book to continue.
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