I have told my lord of you; he is coming down to you.

I thank you, sir.

Here’s my lord.

[_Aside_.] One of Lord Timon’s men? A gift, I warrant. Why, this hits

right. I dreamt of a silver basin and ewer tonight.—Flaminius, honest

Flaminius, you are very respectively welcome, sir. Fill me some wine.

And how does that honourable, complete, free-hearted gentleman of

Athens, thy very bountiful good lord and master?

His health is well, sir.

I am right glad that his health is well, sir. And what hast thou there

under thy cloak, pretty Flaminius?

Faith, nothing but an empty box, sir, which in my lord’s behalf I come

to entreat your honour to supply; who, having great and instant

occasion to use fifty talents, hath sent to your lordship to furnish

him, nothing doubting your present assistance therein.

La, la, la, la! Nothing doubting, says he? Alas, good lord! A noble

gentleman ’tis, if he would not keep so good a house. Many a time and

often I ha’ dined with him, and told him on’t, and come again to supper

to him of purpose to have him spend less, and yet he would embrace no

counsel, take no warning by my coming. Every man has his fault, and

honesty is his. I ha’ told him on’t, but I could ne’er get him from ’t.

Please your lordship, here is the wine.

Flaminius, I have noted thee always wise. Here’s to thee.

Your lordship speaks your pleasure.

I have observed thee always for a towardly prompt spirit, give thee thy

due, and one that knows what belongs to reason, and canst use the time

well, if the time use thee well. Good parts in thee. [_To Servant_.]

Get you gone, sirrah.—

Draw nearer, honest Flaminius. Thy lord’s a bountiful gentleman, but

thou art wise and thou know’st well enough, although thou com’st to me,

that this is no time to lend money, especially upon bare friendship

without security. Here’s three solidares for thee. Good boy, wink at

me, and say thou saw’st me not. Fare thee well.

Is’t possible the world should so much differ,

And we alive that lived? Fly, damned baseness,

To him that worships thee.

Ha! Now I see thou art a fool and fit for thy master.

May these add to the number that may scald thee!

Let molten coin be thy damnation,

Thou disease of a friend, and not himself!

Has friendship such a faint and milky heart

It turns in less than two nights? O you gods,

I feel my master’s passion. This slave

Unto his honour has my lord’s meat in him.

Why should it thrive and turn to nutriment

When he is turned to poison?

O, may diseases only work upon’t,

And when he’s sick to death, let not that part of nature

Which my lord paid for be of any power

To expel sickness, but prolong his hour.