The Life of Timon of Athens. Уильям Шекспир

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      Good day, sir.

      I am glad you're well.

      I have not seen you long. How goes the world?

      It wears, sir, as it grows.

      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.

      I know them both; th' other's a jeweller.

      O, 'tis a worthy lord!

      Nay, that's most fix'd.

      A most incomparable man; breath'd, as it were,

      To an untirable and continuate goodness.

      He passes.

      I have a jewel here —

      O, pray let's see't: for the Lord Timon, sir?

      If he will touch the estimate: but for that —

      When we for recompense have prais'd the vile,

      It stains the glory in that happy verse

      Which aptly sings the good.

      'Tis a good form.

      And rich: here is a water, look ye.

      You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedication

      To the great lord.

      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?

      A picture, sir. When comes your book forth?

      Upon the heels of my presentment, sir.

      Let's see your piece.

      'Tis a good piece.

      So 'tis: this comes off well and excellent.

      Indifferent.

      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.

      It is a pretty mocking of the life.

      Here is a touch; is't good?

      I'll say of it,

      It tutors nature: artificial strife

      Lives in these touches, livelier than life.

      How this lord is followed!

      The senators of Athens: happy man!

      Look, more!

      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.

      How shall I understand you?

      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,

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