Timon of Athens

William Shakespeare

• Éditeur: Classic Books Library
• Année: 2018
• ISBN:
  9781528785792
• Sujet: Letteratura
• Sous-sujet: Teatro shakespeariano

Classic Books Library presents this new beautiful edition of William Shakespeare's play, "Timon of Athens", featuring a specially commissioned new biography of William Shakespeare. Timon, an Athenian known for his vast generosity, depletes his entire fortune in the name of friendship. Facing the consequences of his own naivety, Timon finds himself at a loss when his wealth and friendship is unreturned by those he once lavished. Consumed by bitterness he retreats into solitude. The play explores the fickleness involved with friendships and the instability of wealth and its consequences. William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616) was an English playwright, poet, and actor. He is considered to be the greatest writer in the English language and is celebrated as the world's most famous dramatist.

ACT I.

SCENE I. Athens. A Hall in Timon's House

[Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant,
and Others, at several doors.]

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.
[Looking at the jewel.]
'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: artific...