Shakespeare's First Folio Part 524

Luc. Flaminius? Sir, a word: Pray is my Lord readie to come forth?

Flam. No, indeed he is not

t.i.t. We attend his Lords.h.i.+p: pray signifie so much

Flam. I need not tell him that, he knowes you are too diligent.

Enter Steward in a Cloake, m.u.f.fled.

Luci. Ha: is not that his Steward m.u.f.fled so?

He goes away in a Clowd: Call him, call him

t.i.t. Do you heare, sir?

2.Varro. By your leaue, sir

Stew. What do ye aske of me, my Friend

t.i.t. We waite for certaine Money heere, sir

Stew. I, if Money were as certaine as your waiting, 'Twere sure enough.

Why then preferr'd you not your summes and Billes When your false Masters eate of my Lords meat?

Then they could smile, and fawne vpon his debts.

And take downe th' Intrest into their glutt'nous Mawes.

You do your selues but wrong, to stirre me vp, Let me pa.s.se quietly: Beleeue't, my Lord and I haue made an end, I haue no more to reckon, he to spend

Luci. I, but this answer will not serue

Stew. If't 'twill not serue, 'tis not so base as you, For you serue Knaues

1.Varro. How? What does his casheer'd Wors.h.i.+p mutter?

2.Varro. No matter what, hee's poore, and that's reuenge enough. Who can speake broader, then hee that has no house to put his head in? Such may rayle against great buildings.

Enter Seruilius.

t.i.t. Oh heere's Seruilius: now wee shall know some answere

Seru. If I might beseech you Gentlemen, to repayre some other houre, I should deriue much from't. For tak't of my soule, my Lord leanes wondrously to discontent: His comfortable temper has forsooke him, he's much out of health, and keepes his Chamber

Luci. Many do keepe their Chambers, are not sicke: And if it be so farre beyond his health, Me thinkes he should the sooner pay his debts, And make a cleere way to the G.o.ds

Seruil. Good G.o.ds

t.i.tus. We cannot take this for answer, sir

Flaminius within. Seruilius helpe, my Lord, my Lord.

Enter Timon in a rage.

Tim. What, are my dores oppos'd against my pa.s.sage?

Haue I bin euer free, and must my house Be my retentiue Enemy? My Gaole?

The place which I haue Feasted, does it now (Like all Mankinde) shew me an Iron heart?

Luci. Put in now t.i.tus

t.i.t. My Lord, heere is my Bill

Luci. Here's mine

1.Var. And mine, my Lord

2.Var. And ours, my Lord

Philo. All our Billes

Tim. Knocke me downe with 'em, cleaue mee to the Girdle

Luc. Alas, my Lord

Tim. Cut my heart in summes

t.i.t. Mine, fifty Talents

Tim. Tell out my blood

Luc. Fiue thousand Crownes, my Lord

Tim. Fiue thousand drops payes that.

What yours? and yours?

1.Var. My Lord

2.Var. My Lord

Tim. Teare me, take me, and the G.o.ds fall vpon you.

Exit Timon.

Hort. Faith I perceiue our Masters may throwe their caps at their money, these debts may well be call'd desperate ones, for a madman owes 'em.

Exeunt.

Enter Timon.

Timon. They haue e'ene put my breath from mee the slaues. Creditors? Diuels

Stew. My deere Lord

Tim. What if it should be so?

Stew. My Lord

Tim. Ile haue it so. My Steward?

Stew. Heere my Lord

Tim. So fitly? Go, bid all my Friends againe, Lucius, Lucullus, and Semp.r.o.nius Vllorxa: All, Ile once more feast the Rascals