Most honoured Timon,

It hath pleased the gods to remember my father’s age

And call him to long peace.

He is gone happy and has left me rich.

Then, as in grateful virtue I am bound

To your free heart, I do return those talents,

Doubled with thanks and service, from whose help

I derived liberty.

O, by no means,

Honest Ventidius. You mistake my love.

I gave it freely ever, and there’s none

Can truly say he gives if he receives.

If our betters play at that game, we must not dare

To imitate them; faults that are rich are fair.

A noble spirit!

Nay, my lords, ceremony was but devised at first

To set a gloss on faint deeds, hollow welcomes,

Recanting goodness, sorry ere ’tis shown;

But where there is true friendship there needs none.

Pray, sit, more welcome are ye to my fortunes

Than my fortunes to me.

My lord, we always have confessed it.

Ho, ho, confessed it? Hanged it, have you not?

O Apemantus, you are welcome.

No,

You shall not make me welcome.

I come to have thee thrust me out of doors.

Fie, thou’rt a churl, ye’ve got a humour there

Does not become a man; ’tis much to blame.

They say, my lords, _ira furor brevis est_,

But yond man is ever angry.

Go, let him have a table by himself,

For he does neither affect company,

Nor is he fit for it indeed.

Let me stay at thine apperil, Timon.

I come to observe; I give thee warning on’t.

I take no heed of thee. Thou’rt an Athenian, therefore, welcome. I

myself would have no power; prithee; let my meat make thee silent.

I scorn thy meat, ’twould choke me, for I should ne’er flatter thee. O

you gods, what a number of men eats Timon, and he sees ’em not! It

grieves me to see so many dip their meat in one man’s blood; and all

the madness is, he cheers them up too.

I wonder men dare trust themselves with men.

Methinks they should invite them without knives.

Good for their meat, and safer for their lives.

There’s much example for ’t. The fellow that sits next him, now parts

bread with him, pledges the breath of him in a divided draft, is the

readiest man to kill him. ’T has been proved. If I were a huge man, I

should fear to drink at meals,

Lest they should spy my wind-pipe’s dangerous notes.

Great men should drink with harness on their throats.

My lord, in heart, and let the health go round.

Let it flow this way, my good lord.

Flow this way? A brave fellow! He keeps his tides well. Those healths

will make thee and thy state look ill, Timon.

Here’s that which is too weak to be a sinner,

Honest water, which ne’er left man i’ the mire.

This and my food are equals, there’s no odds.

Feasts are too proud to give thanks to the gods.

Immortal gods, I crave no pelf,

I pray for no man but myself.

Grant I may never prove so fond

To trust man on his oath or bond,

Or a harlot for her weeping,

Or a dog that seems a-sleeping,

Or a keeper with my freedom,

Or my friends if I should need ’em.

Amen. So fall to’t.

Rich men sin, and I eat root.

Much good dich thy good heart, Apemantus!

Captain Alcibiades, your heart’s in the field now.

My heart is ever at your service, my lord.

You had rather be at a breakfast of enemies than a dinner of friends.

So they were bleeding new, my lord, there’s no meat like ’em. I could

wish my best friend at such a feast.

Would all those flatterers were thine enemies then, that then thou

mightst kill ’em, and bid me to ’em.

Might we but have that happiness, my lord, that you would once use our

hearts, whereby we might express some part of our zeals, we should

think ourselves for ever perfect.

O, no doubt, my good friends, but the gods themselves have provided

that I shall have much help from you. How had you been my friends else?

Why have you that charitable title from thousands, did not you chiefly

belong to my heart? I have told more of you to myself than you can with

modesty speak in your own behalf. And thus far I confirm you. O you

gods, think I, what need we have any friends if we should ne’er have

need of ’em? They were the most needless creatures living, should we

ne’er have use for ’em, and would most resemble sweet instruments hung

up in cases, that keep their sounds to themselves. Why, I have often

wished myself poorer that I might come nearer to you. We are born to do

benefits, and what better or properer can we call our own than the

riches of our friends? O, what a precious comfort ’tis to have so many,

like brothers, commanding one another’s fortunes. O joy’s e’en made

away ere’t can be born! Mine eyes cannot hold out water, methinks. To

forget their faults, I drink to you.

Thou weep’st to make them drink, Timon.

Joy had the like conception in our eyes

And, at that instant like a babe sprung up.

Ho, ho! I laugh to think that babe a bastard.

I promise you, my lord, you moved me much.

Much!

What means that trump?

How now?

Please you, my lord, there are certain ladies most desirous of

admittance.

Ladies? What are their wills?

There comes with them a forerunner, my lord, which bears that office,

to signify their pleasures.

I pray, let them be admitted.

Hail to thee, worthy Timon, and to all

That of his bounties taste! The five best senses

Acknowledge thee their patron and come freely

To gratulate thy plenteous bosom. There

Taste, touch, all, pleased from thy table rise;

They only now come but to feast thine eyes.

They’re welcome all, let ’em have kind admittance.

Music, make their welcome!

You see, my lord, how ample you’re beloved.

Music. Enter a masque of Ladies as Amazons, with lutes in their hands,

dancing and playing.

Hoy-day!

What a sweep of vanity comes this way.

They dance? They are madwomen.

Like madness is the glory of this life,

As this pomp shows to a little oil and root.

We make ourselves fools to disport ourselves,

And spend our flatteries to drink those men

Upon whose age we void it up again

With poisonous spite and envy.

Who lives that’s not depraved or depraves?

Who dies that bears not one spurn to their graves

Of their friend’s gift?

I should fear those that dance before me now

Would one day stamp upon me. ’T has been done.

Men shut their doors against a setting sun.

[_The Lords rise from table, with much adoring of Timon, and to show

their loves each singles out an Amazon, and all dance, men with women,

a lofty strain or two to the hautboys, and cease._]

You have done our pleasures much grace, fair ladies,

Set a fair fashion on our entertainment,

Which was not half so beautiful and kind.

You have added worth unto ’t and lustre,

And entertained me with mine own device.

I am to thank you for ’t.

My lord, you take us even at the best.

Faith, for the worst is filthy and would not hold taking, I doubt me.

Ladies, there is an idle banquet attends you,

Please you to dispose yourselves.

Most thankfully, my lord.

Flavius!

My lord?

The little casket bring me hither.

Yes, my lord. [_Aside_.] More jewels yet?

There is no crossing him in ’s humour;

Else I should tell him well, i’ faith, I should,

When all’s spent, he’d be crossed then, an he could.

’Tis pity bounty had not eyes behind,

That man might ne’er be wretched for his mind.

Where be our men?

Here, my lord, in readiness.

Our horses!

O, my friends, I have one word

To say to you. Look you, my good lord,

I must entreat you, honour me so much

As to advance this jewel. Accept it and wear it,

Kind my lord.

I am so far already in your gifts—

So are we all.

My lord, there are certain nobles of the Senate

Newly alighted and come to visit you.

They are fairly welcome.

I beseech your honour,

Vouchsafe me a word. It does concern you near.

Near? Why then, another time I’ll hear thee.

I prithee let’s be provided to show them entertainment.

[_Aside_.] I scarce know how.

May it please your honour, Lord Lucius,

Out of his free love, hath presented to you

Four milk-white horses, trapped in silver.

I shall accept them fairly; let the presents

Be worthily entertained.

How now? What news?

Please you, my lord, that honourable gentleman, Lord Lucullus, entreats

your company tomorrow to hunt with him and has sent your honour two

brace of greyhounds.

I’ll hunt with him; and let them be received,

Not without fair reward.

[_Aside_.] What will this come to?

He commands us to provide, and give great gifts,

And all out of an empty coffer;

Nor will he know his purse or yield me this:

To show him what a beggar his heart is,

Being of no power to make his wishes good.

His promises fly so beyond his state

That what he speaks is all in debt; he owes

For every word. He is so kind that he now

Pays interest for ’t; his land’s put to their books.

Well, would I were gently put out of office

Before I were forced out.

Happier is he that has no friend to feed

Than such that do e’en enemies exceed.

I bleed inwardly for my lord.

You do yourselves much wrong,

You bate too much of your own merits.

Here, my lord, a trifle of our love.

With more than common thanks I will receive it.

O, he’s the very soul of bounty!

And now I remember, my lord, you gave good words the other day of a bay

courser I rode on. ’Tis yours because you liked it.

O, I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, in that.

You may take my word, my lord. I know no man

Can justly praise but what he does affect.

I weigh my friend’s affection with mine own.

I’ll tell you true, I’ll call to you.

O, none so welcome!

I take all and your several visitations

So kind to heart, ’tis not enough to give;

Methinks I could deal kingdoms to my friends,

And ne’er be weary. Alcibiades,

Thou art a soldier, therefore seldom rich.

It comes in charity to thee, for all thy living

Is ’mongst the dead, and all the lands thou hast

Lie in a pitched field.

Ay, defiled land, my lord.

We are so virtuously bound—

And so am I to you.

So infinitely endeared—

All to you. Lights, more lights!

The best of happiness, honour, and fortunes keep with you, Lord Timon.

Ready for his friends.

What a coil’s here!

Serving of becks and jutting out of bums!

I doubt whether their legs be worth the sums

That are given for ’em. Friendship’s full of dregs.

Methinks false hearts should never have sound legs.

Thus honest fools lay out their wealth on curtsies.

Now, Apemantus, if thou wert not sullen,

I would be good to thee.

No, I’ll nothing, for if I should be bribed too, there would be none

left to rail upon thee, and then thou wouldst sin the faster. Thou

giv’st so long, Timon, I fear me thou wilt give away thyself in paper

shortly. What needs these feasts, pomps, and vainglories?

Nay, an you begin to rail on society once, I am sworn not to give

regard to you. Farewell, and come with better music.

So. Thou wilt not hear me now, thou shalt not then.

I’ll lock thy heaven from thee.

O, that men’s ears should be

To counsel deaf, but not to flattery!